


Verge

by damagedpickle



Series: Prompt Fills [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drug Use, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outer Space, Past Torture, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Trust Issues, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25164298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damagedpickle/pseuds/damagedpickle
Summary: Space was really fucking boring. Staring at the same, black void day after day after day was not lifting his spirits remotely. With limited food and minimal water, dehydration sat in the very near future. And all of this, after everyone else who’d come with him had turned to dust? Yeah, Tony found space depressing. Sue him; if he ever even made it back to Earth.Loki did not know if he was grateful for being rescued or not. He supposed the part of him that had crawled from the flaming, wrecked Statesman was relieved, had wanted this second chance at life, but the rest of him protested vehemently. The rest of him was simply tired; of running, pretending, fighting, surviving.Aka prompt fill for Kerttu
Relationships: Loki & Nebula (Marvel), Loki/Tony Stark, Nebula & Tony Stark
Series: Prompt Fills [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802845
Comments: 129
Kudos: 303





	1. Ship to Wreck

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Infinity-war fix-it of Loki not dying. Perhaps Grand Master gave him something powerful enough, perhaps Jotnar are tough enough to heal broken necks (like maybe forming an ice chrysalis of healing).  
> And Nebula-Tony pick Loki up. (can use the extra ice for drinking water for example). The healing of Loki is not easy still. Nebula's presence is not easy for Loki, too.
> 
> I was really inspired by this prompt, however, I have not been able to (bring myself to) watch either infinity war or endgame for a second, so please forgive any blatant inaccuracies in the canon. I just, I can't watch that again- googling the ship names was hard enough.
> 
> Tags to be updated as I go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now a playlist for this fic, one song to accompany each chapter!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2IXgV6LwtKZLEdbVmNIukM?si=dERP-cW-SQGmUl69XyZEWw
> 
> Yes, I like Florence and the Machine.  
> Sue me.

Space was really fucking boring. And thus, depressing. Well, perhaps circumstances also played a part in the crippling moroseness Tony felt, but staring at the same, black void day after day after day was not lifting his spirits remotely. Sure, it was cool being one of the first humans to actually grace another planet; but the coolness was lost to the fact that shortly after this almost every other human to have ever done so _turned to dust._ So yeah, Tony found space depressing. Sue him; if he ever even made it back to Earth. 

Earth. 

Nope. He wasn't going there. Wasn't touching that time bomb. He was going to stay firmly rooted in the present, far away from all those loathsome hypotheticals haunting all his waking and resting hours. Nothing mattered but right now, him and the blue chic. Him and Nebula. Nebula and him. Which way was it meant go? Tony didn't remember. Didn't care. Wasn't like he was ever going to speak to a native English speaker again. 

And he was back to Earth. 

"Fuck!" Glass shattered as his face hit the mirror, blood trickled down his forehead, cheek, lips. He knew death would greet him long before he ever left this stupid ship; they had limited food and minimal water, dehydration sat in the very near future. Footsteps sounded outside the bathroom door, pausing when their maker knocked.

"Stark? Is everything alright in there?" The voice was formal, neutral, detached. Cautious. And could only belong to the single soul beside himself on board. Inwardly groaning, Tony hands scraping dryly at his face, trying in vain to clear his mess.

"Yep, everything's totally fine. Just cut myself shaving is all. Nothing to worry about, I'm sure you've got better things to- oh! You've already opened the door! Never mind! Yeah, sorry, I broke the mirror." 

_Nice fucking job, arsehole. You just dented your coffin._

Black eyes stared emptily at him. "I can see that, yes."

Tony would have found it odd, her lack of reaction, caring, but he knew apathy like an old friend. 

Meekly, he returned her gaze. "I'm sorry, I'll clean it up-" She shook her head.

"Honestly, I don't really even want to talk about it. I was actually here about something different." That caught Tony's attention. Had a break from the monotony finally arrived? And in what form? "We're approaching an escape pod, though it's not moving itself, just floating around. The thing is, though, the ship's detecting life on board."

Huh. Well, it was certainly a break in the monotony. 

* * *

The escape pod was nothing special; an unremarkable black pill almost invisible against the unending darkness. But the possibility of literally anything new made it more than special to Tony and Nebula. Though the pair had grown quite amicable with one another, they both longed for the company of others. Both would have even been grateful if it came in the form of their fathers. Without having to ask the other's opinion, a decision was made to bring the pod aboard. The Benatar hovered above the pod, slowing pulling it into the cargo hold. The minutes, the seconds, they seemed to drag on for hours. Unvoiced excitement filled the control room, neither caring for the risks associated with bringing the foreign craft and potential person into their midst. With any luck, the unknown being may actually become a fundamental and valuable inclusion to their crew, could be their key to getting home. Not that they were desperate enough to give their secret hope any real thought or belief. When it was announced the pod had been sufficiently decontaminated, there was no delay as the two ran to meet their unexpected visitor. 

It was not what Tony had envisioned, but then again, he wasn't all that sure what he'd been expecting anyway. The first thing he registered was that the ship was fucking freezing, ice coated the hatch and had to be broken off with Nebula's gun before they could even gain access. Then, he registered the cold wasn't from the empty void the pod had just been floating in, but rather the blue humanoid lying half conscious inside of it; dazed eyes glowing red, black hair sprawled in a heap beneath their head, short horns poking out from the ebony mess. The face shape seemed vaguely familiar to Tony, it was as though the line sketch had been coloured wrong, becoming a different picture entirely. Nebula, however, had no such difficulties identifying the iced wreck.

"Little godling?" Surprise filled her voice and face.

Horror filled the 'godling's'. Half-lidded eyes widen until they couldn't widen further. Azure hands scrambled backwards. "No, no, no, no, please, I swear, I did not mean to kill..." While the currently presumed man continued to ramble- beg- plead- Tony turned to Nebula, whispering.

"You know him?" A nod. "What are the chances? I mean, really? We're in the middle of fucking nowhere and we run into your... pal. Who'd have thought?"

Apparently it was only Tony who appreciated the sheer improbability of the situation. Nebula continued to stare at the man in shock, perhaps mixed with something else that Tony couldn't decipher, and the 'godling' was still pleading for his... Tony wasn't actually sure what he was pleading for. He wasn't even sure who he was pleading to. 

"Who is he?"

"Loki of Jotunheim. Formerly of Asgard."

Shit. "Of all the fucking castaways- Fuck! We need to get rid of him, now. How do you even know him- no, not important now, shut the hatch, quick!"

Reacting to the urgency in his voice, Nebula slammed the hatch down with more force than strictly necessary. "Stark, you and I both know we cannot simply 'get rid of him', we've taken him in, he's our responsibility now."

Fingers raked tensely through unwashed hair. "What the fuck is a Jotunheim?"

Nebula just pointed to the icy pod which housed the cobalt wanna-be invader. Inside, a frantic pounding echoed off metal walls; low incomprehensible murmuring occasionally audible. With each thud, the layers of crystallised water built up across the hatch. The temperature of the cargo hold seemed to be drastically dropping with it, the air almost arctic. Again, using Nebula's gun, Tony chipped away the ice, but this time he didn't open it. Instead, he banged loudly against the hatch.

"Will you quit it? You're going to kill us; me in particular. You settle down, maybe I'll consider letting your inexplicably blue arse out."

Surprisingly, the pod stilled- silent- almost immediately. Tony beckoned Nebula away, out of the cargo hold and into a store room.

"So, we letting him out? Don't know if I can trust him, my former experiences with him were rather deleterious. You think he's gonna be a problem?"

The cyborg was even quieter than usual. She took her time answering, seemingly pondering and weighting every possible response, hands twisting around one another. "I doubt he will play a threat to us at present. Particularly if he remains in his Jotunn- blue- form."

In the interest of team bonding, Tony listened to her advice, but not before grabbing a reel of docking rope off a nearby shelf. Together, they returned to the cargo hold, cautiously approaching the still unmoving escape pod. After yelling sufficient threats through the hatch, Tony opened it up, revealing the 'godling' curled up tight, pure crimson eyes looking up in fear, hope, a silent plea or promise. Maybe Nebula had been right in her assessment. At Tony's sign, Loki tediously climbed from the pod, gaze shifting constantly between his rescuers.

"Right, ground rules. I guess really, just don't fuck us over. No attempted mutinies or dictatorships, play nice and we should be good. Otherwise, I shall be forced to leave you tied up in here until you either starve or we land on some desolate rock we can dump you. Capisce?" 

Urgent nodding followed. That was good, Tony really didn't need to wake up as a frog tomorrow. A brief tour of the ship came next, Loki was assigned a room- Tony didn't want to think about whose it used to be. As they reached what had become their unofficial dining room, he came to the daunting conclusion that their resources were going to be even further stretched. They were yet to pass anywhere resembling civilisation, and Tony was the furthest thing from an experienced celestial navigators. Nebula would have perhaps been of use, but she had no clue where the ship had drifted to in the first few days aboard, which they'd both spent locked away in shock, unaware of the outside world. On top of that, the ship's automatic navigation systems seemed to have completely shutdown. Tony had never even been to space; save that one unmentionable time in 2012. Maybe, just maybe, Loki would be able to help. Time would only tell, but did they have enough? A few weeks at best, before the food ran out. Not to mention water- that situation was too bleak to give thought. 

It was not until the end of the tour Tony realised Loki had not said a word since the pod. He didn't have the energy to give it any real consideration. 

* * *

Loki did not know if he was grateful for being rescued or not. He supposed the part of him that had crawled from the flaming, wrecked Statesman was relieved, had wanted this second chance at life, but the rest of him protested vehemently. The rest of him was simply tired; of running, pretending, fighting, surviving. And maybe he could have rested, if it weren't for his rescuers identities. The mortal, Stark, was bothersome enough. He resented Loki due to his attempted hegemony of his planet, would consequently watch him with intense scrutiny, monitoring for the smallest exhibit of ill intent. But Nebula, his wearisome mind could not take fate's twisted humour. To be saved, sheltered, dependent on the woman- machine?- who had broken him so callously, sadistically; the Norns were cruel indeed. All it had taken was a single glance and he'd been back, strapped down to that metal table, writhing in agony, whimpering his remorse, his falsified allegiance to the Titan. It did not help that yet again he was being forced to endure his monstrous Jotunn body. Ridiculous quantities of gratitude filled him upon finding the only mirror he had stumbled upon shattered. 

Seeing his hands every time he reached out had been difficult enough without having to meet his own beastly, ruby eyes. 

As he lay on his assigned bed- a small, military issued cot by the looks of things, dragged in as a hasty stand-in for a new crew member- he felt frost slowly spreading from his pliant body, seeping into the sheets, across the metal frame, down to the tiled floor. Disgust coursed through him, was he so pitiful he could not even control what should be his most instinctive magic?

Self-loathing drew him from his cot, stumbling listlessly to his feet. Freezing hands searched the white walls, feeling for the switch he knew should lie beside that for the light. Finding it, he spun it round and round, turning it up to the highest setting. The release was not immediate, he hadn't expected it to be, but ten minutes later, he heard the tell-tale sound signifying his success.

The drip

drip

drip

of thawing ice.

Hopefully, he'd soon melt too. 


	2. Hunger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the wonderful Kettru, who first submitted this prompt, for your help fixing the inaccuracies in the last chapter! I've gone back to try and fix it up, please let me know if I accidentally include anymore.
> 
> T/W for mild suicidal thoughts.

Tony was back to thinking about Earth. Tasting again the forbidden fruit, this time tempted by the mere thought of coffee. He really hadn't meant to let his thoughts wonder there, but he'd awoken still exhausted, and had a sudden craving for a caffeine hit- not that he was an addict, not that he'd ever admit it at least. But thinking of his alleged addiction just made him think of Pepper, and when he next came back to himself, he was back in the bathroom staring longingly into the shattered mirror. 

Back on the self-pity train. Again. 

When would he just fucking learn?

Involuntarily, his palm slammed into the broken shards; which in hindsight might appear to be a real bad fucking idea. But in his present state? Yeah, his palm may now be bleeding but at least he had something else to think about now. There was something productive for him to do; slowly plucking each tiny piece from his calloused hand. Painstakingly tedious? Yes. But a worthwhile distraction for two hours? Also yes. 

_Falling back into your bad habits again, Tony?_ A mocking voice crooned from the back of his head. He didn't have the strength, energy, motivation to dispel it, especially when it wasn't wrong. Especially when the voice came with a glimpse of strawberry-blonde hair, gentle eyes and-

Goddamn, he really was pathetic, wasn't he? He needed a new distraction.

Lethargic feet led him to the cargo hold, where the escape pod still sat untouched. Perfect. If he was going to fall back into his bad habits, he was going all out. It wasn't quite a suit or car, but nonetheless it was a transport vehicle and he would work with what he had. And it wasn't like he needed to _work_ when he was done with it. Loki didn't need it anymore, bloody hitchhiker. So, he raided the store room for anything even resembling a tool and got to work. To his immense fortune, he'd even found an honest to god walkman, with actually Earth music on it. Perhaps not entirely to Tony's taste, but it was the volume he cared about most of all, so it hardly mattered. Twenty-four hours later, he'd been driven slightly insane by the repetitiveness of the walkman's limited options, but was going strong regardless. The pod had been stripped to its skeleton, a pile of assorted parts stacked beside it. To Tony's surprise, he was relatively familiar with most of the pieces he'd gathered, the engineering oddly similar to that on Earth. He supposed escape pods did not have to be the most dynamic of vessels, only needing basic navigation and steering technology, the bare minimum to survive long enough to reach safety. Once the pod has been sufficiently deconstructed, he began to play around with the individual parts, how could they be rearranged in his favour, could he create repulsers, gauntlets? It consumed him until the thirty-seventh hour of his binge, when he was rudely interrupted as the walkman was ripped from his head. 

"Where the hell did you find this, Stark? And what made you think it was yours to touch?"

It was the coolness of Nebula's anger, the calm rage she emanated, that made Tony pause and actually consider his answer. Maybe raiding her dead sister's ship without asking had been a slightly inconsiderate decision. 

_Typical Tony. Only thinking of yourself._ The spiteful voice was back. Had it really left?

"I just found it lying around in my room and picked it up, I guess. And I know, stupid, selfish choice- I'm sorry. I suppose it just reminded me of home, but I won't touch them again; you're right, it's not mine to touch." Bowing his head, he averted his gaze from hers. He turned to return to his work, but was unexpectedly stopped by a metallic hand, followed by a soft pressure against both his ears. Nostalgic pop filled his mind once more.

"Keep it, Stark, hold onto it until you reach home once more."

He clutched the black box close to his chest, squeezing as if it could possibly take him home if only he held on tight enough. Unsurprisingly, he remained still very much not in Kansas. 

* * *

The temporary distraction of dissecting the escape pod, was unfortunately just that- temporary. After spending a grand total for fifty-seven hours working on the pod, he'd run out of things to do with it, as well as energy and glucose. Sufficiently worn out from his engineering binge, he entered the kitchen only to be greeted by a friendly reminder that they were almost completely out of supplies, because that's what happened when you were floating around in a half-dead ship in the middle of space. Tony opened the “pantry” with minimal hopes for its contents, but was surprised to find only two sachets missing. Considering they'd been going through about four a day when it had just been Tony and Nebula, two seemed off to Tony. Maybe Loki had his own secret stash somewhere. Bastard. It seemed in character at any rate. As for Nebula? Perhaps she’d gone down to one sachet a day, moving to even stricter rations with three crew and only about twenty sachets left. 

Fuck. Only twenty sachets left. He was never surviving all the way to Earth. Never getting the chance to apologise-

_It’s not like she was going to forgive you either way._

Stupid, fucking inner voice. Why’d it always have to be so right?

While the awful, dehydrated food prepared itself in weird cooker thing Nebula had introduced him to, Tony pondered which loathsome card in this shitty hand was going to kill him first. 

* * *

The heat was slowly draining the life from Loki’s body. To an observer, he might appear to be profusely sweating. But inside he knew it for a Frost Giant the amount of water he losing was detrimental to his health. Loki couldn’t bring himself to care, to stand up and dial down the switch. If he suffered through it for long enough, maybe this hideous form would melt away forever, maybe it would bring back that wonderful Aesir skin of his. And if it didn’t? Hopefully then he’d be allowed to disappear permanently this time. No resurrections. Ha. At this point, he honestly wasn’t sure if Hel would ever let him through. Fifth time lucky, if only he’d be so fortunate. Steam was starting rise from some of the smaller puddles, vapour filling the air and weighing it down. Dripping down his face, it cooled his head, heated from illness and the room’s obscene temperature. He was certain he had not slept since the Statesman, his dreaded night terrors would have surely visited him otherwise. Half a curved bar of iron worked its way into his hand and he held on desperately, looking for a place that had long ago been declared off limits for the god. In his hazy pain, it was amusing to him how it was the shackles of his imprisonment where he sought the illusion of freedom. 

His lucid mind would protest that nothing about his time on Sakaar had been remotely amusing. Possibly ironic that it should be what saved his life when the Mad Titan came, however.

In the dark heat of the room, his stomach pleaded for food. Not wanting to risk catching his pathetic appearance in a stray mirror or utensil, his mind refused. He rationalised that it was also safer inside his room, with no chance of running into Stark or the Titan's daughter. 

_Yes, better not to risk her wrath_ again. Loki had suffered long and hard enough under her clinical rage. He was not masochistic enough to tempt her further than his appearance already would have. Alone with only his mind for company, he pondered the nature of his "rescuers" relationship. He could not imagine Stark, who had single-handedly destroyed the entire 4th Division of the Chitauri fleet, would have allied himself with the Titan- at least willingly. In the same fashion, it was difficult- but not impossible- to see Nebula abandoning her father. But Loki knew all too well how deceptively motivating a poor father could be for treachery. With Nebula, he could sympathise there. Since he was yet to be dragged bound and cowed before that accursed throne, he suspected his latter theory to be true, though refused to disregard the former. While he longed to give up completely, part of him clung belligerently to his survival training.

A harsh knock echoed across his room's metallic walls. Instinctively, he curled in upon himself, breath slowing to remain as silent as possible. Fate ignored his silent pleas and the door slammed open. Loki didn't dare to look, but he heard the voice well enough. It seemed Stark was angry for some reason or another and had come to unleash his wrath. _Could it possibly be the recent Jotunn infestation aboard his vessel which had enraged him so?_

Ah. That was why people grew so easily sick of his sarcasm.

"Turn the fucking heat off, will you? We're floating aimlessly in the middle of space, no resources or reserves, and you're wasting fuel because you're cold? We saved your worthless life, show some goddamn gratitude!"

Even from his position across the room, Loki could smell the alcohol on the man. He was contemplating whether or not moving to turn of the heating system would be worth living indefinitely with his Jotunn form just to avoid Stark's inebriated ire, when Stark himself solved the problem; smashing his hand against the button and most likely rendering it useless. With that, he blundered out of the room, forgetting to shut the door as he left. Loki supposed he could have gotten up to shut it himself, preserve what little heat he had left. Instead, he buried his body- his shame- under the thin blanket and plunged his face into the pillow, silently weeping alone in the dark once more.

* * *

When he awoke with his head groggy and sore the next day, Tony knew he'd fucked up. There were no drinks aboard the ship, yet he'd still drunk himself into a stupor using the alcohol reserved for disinfections. _Selfish, selfish bastard._ Worst of all, the hours after he'd reached that point of no return were a scattered haze of memory, only a faint recollection of yelling, cursing and falling. Lots of falling. His knees were painted in the evidence. _Weak, pathetic, useless, Tony._ As he yearned for Earthly painkillers, he attempted to figure which of the two other people he'd abused under the influence and why. It actually proved a relatively simple task once he made note of one basic fact. Had he gone off at Nebula, no matter how justified he'd been, he would not have safely made it into bed. So, by process of elimination, it must have been the Smurf. 

Determining the why, however, was considerably more difficult. There were many possible reasons that came to mind at first; the invasion of New York, throwing Tony out of a window, being a shitty brother to Thor, coming back into Tony's life when he needed it the least- the list jut kept going. Eventually, he concluded the fastest way to narrow it down would be to ask the human- or god- sized icy pole himself and apologise for abusing Loki while he was probably still recovering from his space nap. So, Tony soon found himself on his way to visit the person who ranked right down there with Howard on his list of people he wanted to talk to. 

At first, it was difficult to spot the god's huddled form, buried beneath the sheet. It actually surprised Tony to see how small he looked, curled into the foetal position. Had Tony not know he was actually looking at a psychotic terrorist, he might have called the picture before him adorable. That was, of course, before said terrorist began berating Tony for his drunken actions the night before.

"I assure you, Stark, the heating is very much still off. In fact, due to your rather forceful method of pressing the switch, I do believe that without repair the heating will not be turning on ever again."

The heating? That's what he'd gone off about? Out of all the possible bones he had to pick with Loki, he'd chosen the heating? God, his drunk-self was a moron. An angry, bitter moron.

"Look, Rudolph, I'm actually here to apologise about that. As I'm sure you noticed, I was drunk off my arse and I'm sorry I decided that taking all my frustration out on you would be a great idea."

Beneath the blanket, Loki was still refusing eye-contact. "It is of no matter Stark, I apologise for wasting your precious fuel with my personal endeavors." Surprisingly, the statement held no trace of sarcasm or bite. Compared to the absolute diva he'd met in Stuttgart, the moping shell on Nebula's old bed seemed rather flat. There was something in that, Tony was sure, but he was also hungover and in no mood to get into it. Loki had accepted his apology, even given an apology in return, everyone was now even. No vengeance murders required. With a nod of acknowledgement that in hindsight he wasn't sure popsicle actually saw, he departed to scavenge the pantry for one of nineteen- maybe less now- identical sachets of gruel. Walking along the corridor, a wet squelching followed each footstep. He looked down to see his shoes soaked in water he was sure the ship didn't possess. Yet as he experimentally slid the sneakers along the tiles, there was the unmistakable squeak of wet rubber.

Though he had no idea where this miraculous water had come from, there was one thing he was sure of.

His shoes had been dry before he entered Loki's room.


	3. Blinding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for the delay between updates and the slightly shorter length of this chapter, I promise I'm going to fix up my schedule!  
> TW again for mentions of suicide and suicidal thoughts

Where the hell had the water come from? They’d run out of fresh, clean water days ago; it was only through some new-age hydration pods that they hadn’t dehydrated yet. But though the capsules were indeed capable of sustaining life, Tony had never missed liquid so much.

His throat was so fucking parched. It felt like Afghanistan had been shoved down his throat, sand slowly eroding the tissue day by day. And apparently now water was just flooding haphazardly through the ship’s corridors. Not that he was complaining. But the why and the how had him stumped; and if there was one thing Tony hated most of all, it was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

Irritated yet invigorated by the promise of translucent bliss, he sought out the resident expert for all matters concerning the Benatar. Ever conscious of the wet squelch he made with every step. 

“Hey, Terminator.”

As usual, Nebula scowled at the endearment. Tony wasn’t sure if it was because she didn't understand the reference or because she did. If she'd spent time on the ship with a literal walkman, there was always the chance she'd watched the movie. 

“Stark.” He supposed it was better than "little godling". Nonetheless, Tony would always be preferable. He wouldn't push it though, he'd done enough. 

"We've had a pipe burst- maybe. Well, something must have burst. Water is leaking along the corridor outside Sector D, or flooding it at the very least. I went to talk to Elsa and my shoes got completely soaked."

A blue and purple head turned abruptly away from his. "You know as well as I how few sachets we have left, Stark. I'm not in the mood. Our water tanks and pipes have been dry for over a week."

Had it not been for his very real, wet shoes, Tony would have shared her pessimism. Low on food, water and morale, they were drifting aimlessly through space, an unknown amount of light years away from everyone he'd ever known, loved-

Fuck. He'd never get to make it right, would he?

 _A disappointment from start to_ _finish._ At least she wouldn't be shackled down by his memory, his ghost. It had been clear, once more, he'd lost his place in her heart, mind and soul.

"I'm not joking about the water, Nebula." Maybe he could at least make this right. Do something nice for the one person currently looking out for him. He chucked the dripping shoe at her, hitting her back dead-centre. As she registered the feeling of damp spreading across her clothing, she spun back around to face him, eyes wide in shock, hope, bewilderment. Metal hands turned the polyester, interrogating each crevice and pool. 

"How... Where did you say you found it?" Her mouth moved silently, repeating private words of amazement to herself. 

"Sector D. Where we put Prancer the other day." His co-pilot hummed considerately.

But what did the god- Jotunn, whatever- have to do with the water? It wasn't like he could have produced the water necessary all on his own...

Oh. It was not a puzzle, more an equation; he needed to find x. The variable, the unknown factor, the change.

The literal ice demon he'd just taken onboard. Whose heater he'd smashed in a drunken haze. God, what an idiot he was. Loki had probably been trying to _help_ them, turn the ice into a viable product, and what had Tony done but burn the olive branch in a violent blaze?

_Stupid, selfish bastard. So caught up in your own downward spiral you don't even notice the hands reaching out, trying to break your fall._

Nebula, sharp as she was, reached the same conclusion- or one similar enough- alongside him. With a knowing glance at the other, they strode in an earnest disbelief back towards their newest crew member. 

* * *

His room was beginning to freeze over again. It wasn't that he noticed the cold, his cursed body was insensitive to it, for better or worse. He was simply aware of the tendrils spreading from his bundled body on the bed. And how could he not be? Each slither of ice was another bullet to his soul, solidifying himself as the monstrosity he so feared. The Norns were cruel to offer him such a small scrap of salvation at such a taxing price. Had he the energy to move, perhaps he would return to that shattered mirror, take one last look at his broken form and ensure he would never have to face it again. In Hel, he had no need for a body. Loki could not bring himself to move his mouth, so he resorted to cursing Fate with his thoughts alone. Maybe hunger would take him and he wouldn't even have to get up. He could go slowly, fade from this plane and memory as he had always been destined to do. 

However, the Norns had contradicting plans, woven long ago. They reminded him of this each time he sought to unravel their threads with his death. His moping- pathetic, that that was what he had been reduced to- was interrupted by the arrival of his so-called saviours.

"Hey, Dasher, we know what you're up to."

Did they really? He was surprised they considered his suicidal tendencies worthy of their time and attention. Nonetheless, he would not be thwarted so easily. "And what might that be? Am I conspiring to repair the heating, or dare I say it, the cooling?" Somewhere deep inside him, he found the motivation to roll and face Stark and the Titan's daughter, mischievous smile plastered fraudulently across his blue face. Unexpectedly, his smirk left Stark unfazed. 

"Nah, I might have settled that one for good." With one hand, he gestured to the impounded switchboard. "I was actually referring to all that water you've been producing as a bi-product of the heat and ice. I'm sorry I didn't recognise your intentions from the start, I'm selfish I know-"

Loki was frowning heavily at Stark, even Nebula was appearing somewhat perplexed.

"My intentions?"

As the mortal began to read the room, the confidence and arrogance he typically spoke with began to disappear. "The water- were you not melting the ice to produce water for the ship? You surely know how minute our resources are?"

Loki's mind transcended into a delirium at the hero's childish naivety. Carnivorous lips split into a manic smile, followed by an equally depraved peal of empty laughter. Such baseless optimism and selflessness was incomprehensible to the outcast monster. It was the irony which humoured him most of all; that the human thought his actions to be so altruistic when in reality he'd been on the verge of the most selfish act of all. 

"You hold me in much too high esteem, Stark. I have never borne the hero-complex of you and your shield-brothers. I was indeed attempting to thaw something, but it was much more than the ice."

The mechanical woman was silent, unreadable; the mortal surprisingly empathetic. Had he lived through death too?

"Would you do it though? Help us replenish our stores with your ice?"

The question was difficult to construct an answer to, so dependent on his will and strength to remain voluntarily in this hideous form. He was not even sure he had control of his body, let alone any primal ice-bending abilities. Besides, what loyalties did he have to the two figures in front of him? Though one might argue his continued life was enough to be forever indebted to them, he did not recognise himself as owing anything to them. They had not given him anything he wanted. 

He was so lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice the hand sneaking its way around his wrist. It pulled him flush against Nebula's steel body, a knife not quite as cold as his body held against his throat. 

"If you don't do this for us, little godling, we all die. You forget that I know fully well what you are capable of in this body, yet I also know how to subdue it."

_Were metal benches not meant to be cool? Why did it burn him so? He had been the God of Fire; he was now reduced to a monster of ice, carved up by the whims of a wicked Titan. Had the gods not defeated the titans, was that not how they ascended to divinity? The myths were wrong, the Titan had well and truly defeated what remained of the God._

Loki had not forgotten. He was certain he never would. He weighed losing his life here to enduring the beast inside him another day, but the scale refused to balance. While he stood limp in his rescuer's threatening grip, Stark pulled out one final bombshell. Hands raised in the air, he got to his knees. 

The mortal knelt before him and begged. 

"Please, Loki, we- I- need your help. I don't know how to make it any more clear that without some divine intervention, we're royally fucked. And maybe it doesn't matter to you if you die out here, but both of us have unfinished business we'd hate to leave unresolved. If we ever make it off this ship, I swear I'll do whatever you ask, just please, be our deus ex machina."

The scale slowly came to a halt, the two options weighed out before him. Whether it was the knife to his throat, or the man at his feet he would not say, but Loki hesitantly nodded his head in agreement. Perhaps this simple favour would negate the debt the Fates held him in. Perhaps it would be the final hurdle laying between him and the eternal rest he had been denied so many times.

* * *

It had just been a nod, timid at that, but to Tony it had been so much more. What a difference just a simple compound could make to one's spirits. Suddenly, despite still having no clue where in the middle of the universe he was, Earth felt much closer. For once, the word didn't bring a crushing sense of failure to his heart. Because now they had a renewable source of something, even if it was just water. Now they had hope, a spark, something to rejuvenate the hopelessness that had been festering within him. 

He was going to make it home, he was going to make things right. 

Despite the growl of hunger in his stomach brought by the still limited food rations, he collapsed in his bed lighter than ever. The cheery pounding of his heart lured him off to sleep, drowning out cries of incompetence and inadequacy. 

Unfortunately for the source of this rekindled life, located just down the hall, it also drowned out the whimpers, pleas of a god unwilling to face himself, haunted by a past which too had unfinished business. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also just a note, I 100% am not condoning the notion that suicide is "selfish", that's just Loki's characterisation and completely not my own thoughts, just a disclaimer.


	4. How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, thanks to Kettru for fixing (more of) my mistakes! Sorry if this one feels a bit shorter, I will attempt to expand the word count in the upcoming chapters.

It may have taken a little under twenty hours, but Tony had done it. Running on nothing but pure, unfiltered hope, he had constructed an abstract heater made from an amalgamation of escape-pod parts, with a tray for collecting melted ice. He was proud of what he'd created without a workshop, Jarvis, or even Yinsen. He'd say Howard would be proud, but then he'd just be lying. And then he'd be just as bad as the frozen god stationed just above him. 

Maybe that was too harsh. He had just saved Tony's life, if only temporarily. He supposed that was worth something. Besides, if Thanos had been right, a fuck ton more people had just died on Earth compared to Loki's half-arsed invasion attempt. Grimy hands reached out to pour a celebratory shot of sterilising alcohol- just one, he only needed one, just one- and a parched mouth swallowed it down. He was only having it in recognition of his accomplishment. That's all it was, a reward.

_Now who's the liar, Tony?_

"Fuck off." Who was she to judge him so? He'd lost the kid, probably half of Earth, he could cope how he wanted to.

"I beg your pardon?"

Shit. Tony hadn't even noticed the temperature dropping as the aforementioned deity entered the cargo hold. Oil latched onto brown hair as he fingered it anxiously. "Sorry, Blitzen, not you. Thanks for coming down."

There wasn't much of a response from the god, but Tony didn't really register it. His celebratory shot was beginning to kick in. 

"So, as I'm sure you can see, I've finished with the heater for the ice, so all that's really left is for you to do your whole Elsa schtick and we'll be set."

There was a vague murmur of acknowledgement sounded somewhere in the background, and then silence. Tipsy as he may be, Tony began to slowly process the lack of response. He turned from his creation to the cobalt figure behind him. "Blitzen?"

Loki was not facing Tony at all. What Tony remembered to be eerily bright, crimson eyes were transfixed out the large window of the cargo hold. "What is it that compels you to return home, Stark? What awaits you on that blue planet of yours that insists you must survive?"

It was the quietness of his voice that unnerved Tony the most. As if there was something lying dormant he wished to leave undisturbed. But Tony wasn't sure what that something was, and like a riddle without an answer, that was what scared him most of all. Nonetheless, he considered the question, supposing it was fair enough. _What was awaiting him on Earth?_ Was it even possible to tell now? Would everyone simply be dead? No, no, he couldn't think like that. Thanos had been quite specific, it had to be half. Surely there was someone still waiting for him.

The Avengers? Fuck, no, not after Germany, not after Siberia.

Right. Back to basics then.

Rhodey? Happy? FRIDAY? They'd be fine without him, perhaps even better off. 

Then that just left-

Oh. Right. Yeah. There was his answer.

"I have to fix my last mistake, from before I left Earth. I have to make it up to Pep- someone I loved, very much."

_Can't even say my name, Tony? Is that what we've come to?_

"A noble sentiment indeed."

The snarky little shit- "Well, if that's so amusing to you, I'd like to hear your motivations then. What are you holding on for?"

Scarlet eyes finally met his. "You misunderstand me, Stark, I do not mock you. I, of all people, understand the importance of amending one's wrongdoings. As for what I am holding on for, I cannot truly say, for I do not fully know myself. Before I was violently removed from our ship, I believe my brother was bound for Earth. I would like to see him one last time, I suppose."

”Ah. Got to fuck him over one last time, huh?”

Unexpectedly, a spark of hurt appeared in the god’s eyes. “I cannot escape my past, can I? Even in the middle of nowhere it haunts me still. Though you may not believe it, Stark, I do not wish Thor harm. I merely wish to inform him I am alive; if he feels any pain for my almost-death, I would alleviate it.”

Well, how about that? Maybe an old dog could learn new tricks. The heaviness of Loki’s voice as he spoke resonated with Tony, he knew the feeling much too well for it to be of any comfort. 

“Guilt’s a powerful emotion, isn’t it? We do so much stupid shit just to get rid of it.”

Had Loki come closer? No, they were too close to the window, Tony must have been the one to bridge the gap between them. Looking into the daunting mass in front of them, Tony could make out the stars- though they were completely foreign to him. Did Pepper ever look out at the unending reach of space and wonder if he’d ever make it back to Earth? Who was he kidding, he didn’t deserve a spot in her mind or heart. 

“Love, guilt, jealousy- sentiment makes fools of us all.” Loki sounded as if he was once again lost in the view, or someplace even further away. 

Tony’s thoughts began to follow. He went back to the first time he’d met Loki, so many years ago. He thought it was strange to be standing so- not quite amicably, but at least neutrally- beside one who’d caused such chaos and carnage, but recalled the absurd moment he’d offered the invader a drink in the heat of battle, unarmed. That moment of questionable judgement in mind, he strode to a nearby bench and gripped the sanitising alcohol in hand. 

“I do believe, your majesty- or whatever it is- I owe you a drink.”

A slow chuckle escaped remarkably chapped lips. “How you address me matters very little now, Stark. I lost any title I once held long before we first met. But given what I’m about to do, I will be taking the drink.”

Clawed hands wrapped around the brown-glass bottle, and broken lips encircled its neck, as sweet escapism poured down another’s throat. 

* * *

Hours later, empty bottle lying discarded beside them, both men- in the loosest sense- were rather inebriated. Loki was rather surprised to see himself undone to almost the same extent as a mortal, he should really have a higher tolerance, but nothing about his body had been the same since Saakar, or the Statesman at that. 

"What happened to all your magic shit? Why haven't you just," Stark twisted his hands in some vague semblance of an explosion, "poofed out of here by now?"

Loki tried to drain the bottle again, only to be disappointed to find it still empty. "The terminology you Midgardians use to refer to seidr astounds me. Alas, I have not had full access to my seidr for many months now. Ever since I washed up on that godforsaken trash-heap, it is as if that part of me, along with others, has been locked away."

The mortal looked surprised, or maybe it was just disillusionment, at the news. 

"But how have you been getting food and shit? The ice isn't coming from nowhere, right?"

It was cute, Stark's imitation of any mystical understanding. Naïve, but sweet. "The ice comes from my Jotunn heritage; since the first man responsible for reducing my seidr had no idea of this form, he did not restrict its capabilities. Unfortunately, he did not extend the courtesy to the rest of my abilities. And I am confused, what food do you speak of? I have not eaten in weeks, I would amend this if I could."

For a few moments, Stark simply stared at the being in front of him; in shock, in guilt. Eyes wide, hardly blinking, mouth just slightly agape. "But you've been aboard for nearly a week now! Surely you've been into the rations by now!" Loki shook his head dejectedly. It pained him to look back on his recent past, to remind himself what he had so narrowly escaped. "Fuck! Reindeer Games, why didn't you say anyth- how are you even still up and moving, let alone alive?"

"I need nowhere near the amount of sustenance as your flimsy, mortal body, Stark. My own body is far more efficient."

Swaying a worrying amount, Stark climbed to his feet. "I'm calling bullshit, Thor eats enough for at least five humans." As Stark stumbled towards the cargo hold's exit, Loki moved to follow, but was stopped by the engineer's waving hand. "You stay here, you'll probably fall over if you get up." There was a distinct slur developing to the man's words. Perhaps he had been more affected by the alcohol than Loki had previously suspected. 

In an attempt to stave boredom while he awaited Stark's return, Loki shuffled along the ground to the newly constructed melting machine. Identifying the ice tray, he began, for the first time ever, to purposely conjure ice to fill it. With the lack of heating currently available on board, he was able to produce a surprisingly large quantity, easily enough to completely cover the entire volume of the tray. For a small moment, he began to feel somewhat like his old self, somewhat in control. Placing his hand atop the giant ice cube, he could feel heat begin to change its state. Silently, he willed it to change his own state; lapis to porcelain.

It didn't work. Why did it never. Fucking. Work? 

"Hey! It's working! Thanks, Smurfette, I really mean it. You saved our arses, big time." Beside Loki, Stark places a lukewarm sachet of goop.

"Pray tell me, Stark, what in all the Nine Realms this is?"

Calloused, oil-stained hands inspect the beige packaging. "I believe it's meant to be some sort of curry." Loki wasn't sure what exactly the face he pulled was, but it resonated with the man in front of him. "So fine, it's barely classifiable as food. It's something, though. Something we have very little of, so you should eat up while it's still on offer, else I'm going to steal it back."

Some foreign manner of eating utensil is held out to him, and Loki begrudgingly accepts it. To his dismay, the taste is exactly on par with its appearance. However, the warm feeling that spreads in his stomach as he eats it is almost worth the permanent damage to his taste buds.

"Thank you, Stark." There's a nod in response, then silence between them once more. Brown and red eyes are turned out the window, minds absorbed in the nothingness surrounding them, the unasked question of their arrival in this strange, desolate place hovering at the forefront of their minds. 


	5. Queen of Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! An unexpected, unplanned update! Thanks for all the support and help you guys have all been giving me, it really makes my days!
> 
> TW: implied rape (nothing graphic at all, read between the lines situation), drug use and mild gore at the end (blink and you'll miss it)

_Three Months Prior_

”I can’t believe you! This is the third meeting you’ve missed this week!”

The voice screaming at him was an angry blur not quite piercing the pounding daze of his hangover.

”And what did you miss it for? Yet another goddamned, self-destructive bender! I can’t keep doing this; I’m meant to be your fiancé, not your mother.”

It was too much, too early and with too little caffeine in his system. The room was dark, but that was no indication of the time; lately he needed blackout curtains to even stand a chance at falling asleep. That, and a whole lot of whiskey. Without a combination of both, he all too often found himself transported through time just one of the waking nightmares he’d survived. The voice didn’t understand though, the voice just saw the inevitable bought of alcohol poisoning he was destined for sometime in his immediate future. And while the voice was technically right, it was still an incredibly sobering experience to awake to almost every morning, afternoon, evening- whenever he eventually opened his eyes. 

“C’mom Pep, it’s too early for this. What’s one meeting anyway? That’s what you’re here for, right?”

Glowering eyes stared into his bleary ones. 

“So that’s all I’m here for? To manage your company, all the while acting as a glorified babysitter?”

Tony woke up almost immediately. “No, no, Pep- babe, you know it’s not like that.”

A placating arm, a temporary white flag. A defeated sigh. 

“I know Tony, it’s just hard to see it some days. Promise me you’ll come to the next meeting?”

“Yeah, I swear, I’ll be there.”

A promise made like a contract signed. But both are equally as fragile, prone to breakage and ruin. 

* * *

Yet again, a pile of melted flesh sits at Loki’s feet. He can’t say he feels particularly sorry for the once-creature, at least they found a way out of this godforsaken tower, palace; however the narcissist who runs this hellhole wants to refer to it. 

“Ah. That was, uh, rather unfortunate, I, uh, just hate having to do that. But you get I have to, right Lokes?”

There’s a garishly painted hand raking through his hair, caressing his scalp the way a lover would. The hand most decidedly does not belong to any lover of Loki’s. While he allowed the somewhat one-sided relationship he and the Grandmaster shared, he refused to hold the man in any form of endearment. He permitted it, but would never, ever acknowledge it. No matter what privilege it could bring. 

Dutifully, as always, he replies. “Yes, Grandmaster.” His head remained bowed, eyes fixed on the slowly disappearing puddle of flesh before him. 

_I will endure. I will survive. Worse has befallen you, worse is yet to come. Endure, survive._

That hand, that twice-dammed hand, reaches possessively around his neck, pressing cold metal further into his throat. A reminder, gentle nudge in the direction of obedience and humility. But it is not necessary. Others have already taught the godling this lesson, others have already succeeded. The godling knows this is just another one of the Norns’ victories. He will endure, he will survive. 

_But at what cost?_

* * *

_Two Months Prior_

"I swear to god- swear on all my suits- it's nothing but tabloid garbage! Those days are far behind me, buried like Afghanistan."

A storm of hurt, pride and desperation stands before him. 

"I want to believe you Tony, truly I do. Maybe it would be easier if I saw you enough to confirm your statement, but you're never here! I don't see you anymore, and I can't tell if that's your fault, or somehow mine!"

Worn hands fold around manicured ones, tight yet not quite reassuring. "Not your fault Pep, never your fault. God, I'm an idiot. The perfect girl and I managed to fuck it up. Sounds about right, doesn't it?"

Through tears and pain, a light chuckle. "Typical Tony." 

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You're the one dating me- this is on you." 

A warm embrace, a teasing kiss. A plaster on a broken bone. It continues this way, in a loop of three days; until the plaster falls off, and once more, the wound is exposed, lying open to infection.

"I'm not having a kid Pepper. I refuse to do that to a child. Can you imagine what I would be like as a father? I'd be Howard the sequel, and we all know how great the first one went!"

They'd been bickering around the lounge room for hours now, the conversation only recently taking a bitter turn. In the past five minutes, three shoes had been thrown, along with a half-eaten apple and the television remote.

"Will you stop blaming everything on that man? Sure, he was a shitty father, but stop letting that determine every, single decision! You are your own man, Tony, fucking act like it!"

Swearing from Pepper was bad, particularly during an argument. Ordinarily, she was the epitome of cool, calm and collected. Clearly a line had been crossed, too bad Tony couldn't see it. 

"I will never be my own man, not while his last name forever taints my first! I will always be Howard Stark's son; I don't want to do that to a baby!"

"You can make your own decisions!"

"Yeah, yeah I can! And I choose not to have a fucking kid, okay?"

"Well, then, maybe you chose the wrong fucking wife." The last sentence is said completely neutrally. There is no bite, no fire, no sting. Only the deafening silence which follows in its wake, broken just once by the gentle click of a door carefully pulled shut. 

This time, no one puts the plaster back.

* * *

The bed beneath him is grounding. It keeps him in check with his surroundings, without having to even open his eyes. The bed, though rather comfortable, is not particularly unique in its feel, nor is it distinctive. It is simply the only bed he is ever allowed into, when he is allowed one at all. The bed is good, the bed is safe. The bed means He is happy, satisfied, placated with enough false promises and caresses. The bed means he has done well, means he has long ago discarded his vow to never acknowledge his arrangement as a relationship. There is a sapphire around his neck to remind him of this, but it is not attached to a chain or loop. Like some pet paraded at a show, he is collared, though his shackles have been bedazzled and adorned to advertise affection and favouritism. 

_Endurance, survival,_ _humiliation._

The humiliation is not new, merely growing exponentially worse. The pet analogy becomes more and more an accurate description, the master ever more demanding, hiding behind his benevolent mask. Whatever scraps of his dignity he arrived with are slipping through his fingers, most already scattered aimlessly in the wind. But he keeps his mantra, curls around it tight; there is nothing else to hold onto. 

He once was the God of Liars and Tricksters. He knows he is no longer deserving of that title. While he still lies here, day in and day out, he does not craft them anymore. His lies are worthless, simple parroting and meaningless flattery, nothing more. The worst part of it all is that he is starting to believe them; the false products of his dulled imagination. 

_Unwanted, unloved, unimportant._

_His, His, His._

_Beautiful, Obedient, Whore._

What awaits him should he ever leave, he has no clue. If he is honest, which is all he wants to be right now, he cannot truly remember. Sometimes, there is a pull, a faint feeling of guilt, grief and shame. He desperately follows that pull, but it is yet to lead anywhere in particular.

"Good morning, Princess. You did so well last night, you know that? Had those, uh, traders eating right out of your, uh, hand." He offers no resistance to the possessive touch anymore, neither physically nor mentally. The lies are sinking in. 

He's glad he still has his tongue, his mind. If he remembers correctly, which he is not sure he does, they once were a formidable pair. Their combined effort now significantly pales to their peak, but is nonetheless still commendable. It is what separates him from all the other bodies in this wretched hive. His body still holds a mind.

For how much longer, he cannot say. 

* * *

_Seven Weeks Prior_

Though the alcohol never left, the drugs had, for quite some time, actually. It had been several years, at least, since he'd fallen back into the haze of nights out on the streets. No one was going to throw him the buoy this time, there was no one left to do it. No ginger-haired angel offering his second, third, fourth shot at redemption. No, now all he had left was the endless stream of bodies and narcotics money could buy. 

And by god, he had money. Just no one to spend it on. So, instead, he spends it on things. Cheap, meaningless things. Dazed moments in the back of a limousine, bleary moments alone, stumbling down some lonesome street. 

In those moments, he'd never felt better. In the days between, he'd never felt lower. 

If his friends intervene, he doesn't notice, or maybe, he just doesn't care. Apathy seems to be all his body can process.

And, if in his smallest moments, his hands find a phone and fingers find a number he knows he's not allowed to call, no one need ever know. It's not like anyone ever answers. 

* * *

He can survive, but no longer endure. His final virtue has abandoned him, given way to pain and trauma and hate, dissolved into the fearful mush He set out to create when he first produced that awful curved-iron sheet. He once had power most could only dream of, abilities capable of bringing his foes to crumpled heaps before him. But with his seidr locked away, he has become the crumpled heap, cowering before his overlords. His mind is shattered, broken and blank. 

But his body is still intact, so his betters decree he still has value. He doesn't argue, but wishes he would. He has nothing left to offer, yet they still find use for him. Often, he finds himself unable to recall exactly what that use is, but they assure him he is not going to waste. 

Maybe they don't know, or maybe they don't care, but all he wants to do is waste away. To become the forgotten relic, discarded by gods that he knows he is. 

He has long forgotten he was once such a god. 

* * *

_Five Weeks Prior_

He wakes up in a hospital, cold and drenched in sweat. There's a cannula in his left arm, an IV drip slowly releasing god-knows-what into his body. It's not like it matters, whatever it is, he's sure he's willingly put much worse into his so-called temple. He pulls the blanket high, up around his shoulder, burying into its warmth. Looking around, no one sits beside his bedside. So he waits for a passing nurse, asks him for the details of his admission and hangs his head in shame. 

Overdose.

_Typical Tony._

He wants to dispute it, but it isn't wrong.

Upon his release, he sets up the helmet of his very first suit, Mark I. His will hasn't changed, won't change, whatever shit he pulls for his grand finale will send everything to Pepper. 

He's put a camera in the eye-piece, a tape sitting freely in the place his head should sit. 

He pushes a button, the red light starts blinking, and he begins to talk.

"If you're listening this, first of all, sorry, whatever it was I did."

* * *

A man comes claiming to be his brother, but he knows he must be lying. He's unwanted, unloved, unimportant. Surely someone like him is inherently undeserving of a family? He knows he is lucky to have his life here on Sakaar; at least he is useful here, though he isn't quite sure how. But the large blonde man insists, despite his protests, and drags him along on his whirlwind escape. 

As they-him, his alleged brother, the scrawny man and threatening woman- draw closer and closer to their unknown destination, the strangest thing begins to happen. He feels his mind slowly return, memories and feelings slotting into place as though pieces in a puzzle. The woman- the Valkyrie, he remembers now- tells him it is the drugs leaving his system. The numbing agents they doped him up on to slow him down. No matter the cause for his recovery, his is indescribably glad to be reunited with his brother, though he is careful not to show it as eagerly as the oaf might his. 

That is, he is glad until the Sanctuary II appears and burns his dreams alive. 

As he lies choking on his own blood, body freezing over, he reflects there is somehow a ray of sunshine in this night. 

At least the Titan had the curtesy to snap that insufferable, demeaning ring around his neck. 


	6. Heavy in Your Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for such a positive response to the last chapter! I'm not 100% sure about how I feel regarding this one, but rest assured this is not the end of discussion for everything that goes down. That being said, I am extremely open to any constructive criticisms any of you may have!

"Stark! Do not tell me that is the sterilising alcohol you just finished off!"

Through his somewhat blurred vision, Tony could see a murderous figure of blue and purple approaching, and given the only other humanoid aboard was sitting half-wasted beside him, there was only one possibility the rapidly nearing smudge's identity.

"Look, in my defence Zhora, he also drank plenty of it." He jerks a finger at the inebriated god beside him, only to have it drunkenly whacked away. 

"Let me alone, Stark. Do not pretend this was not your idea."

Tony doesn't really have anything to say against that, so he choses diversion instead. "We got the heater working. Ice should be melted by now." 

Surprise, maybe respect, reflects in the mechanical eyes before him. It was about time Tony Stark returned to the party anyways.

The ice has indeed melted while the engineer and the mage took their snack break, leaving approximately a litre of water sitting in the tray, sloshing about slightly as Nebula pulls it open. All three stare at the liquid with awe and intrigue, the translucent drink all too foreign to them. For each of them, it is a long-forgotten luxury. 

"Loki should drink first." Though he might be a selfish bastard, he does understand human decency- it just sometimes fails to uphold it. But so far from any remnant of humanity, stuck aboard an alien vessel with two blue aliens, it might be the first time he's done it unprompted. In his stupor, it seems only right that Aesir, or Jotunn, or whatever, who supplied the water should get the first shot.

To Tony's disbelief, Nebula shares her agreement almost instantly. In a much less shocking move, she hints it is to prove the water is free from contaminants; deliberate or accidental. While it seems slightly over vigilant, he supposes that is the basis of her personality and lets it slide. Why argue while she sides with him, for better or worse? The tray is carefully passed to the now seated Trickster, who takes an extremely cautious and conflicted first sip. The instant the water is confirmed as safe, both Tony and Nebula reach greedily for their saving grace, drinking simultaneously as pigs from a trough. 

All too soon, the water is gone. 

"Hey, Princess, can you fix us another batch please? That had no right being so liberating."

Without a care for his dignity, Tony finds himself licking drops from around his mouth, the tray, even the stray droplet on the ground. It is because his desperate actions, he fails to notice the way the 'Princess' freezes at the endearment. His co-pilot does, however. 

"Little godling, I believe he asked you to refill the tray." 

There's the hiss of a blade drawn from a scabbard, and Tony braces for a brawl; which really, is the last thing he needs right now. He could really use some more water though. But as his eyes turn to the confrontation, he finds less of one than he expected. The blade belongs to Nebula, not Loki. The god is instead down on his arms and knees, tray knocked over to the side. Slowly, the huddled form crawls over to the tray, filling it with shaking arms before hurriedly slotting it back into the heater. Another first for Tony: the scene has rendered him speechless, words failing him entirely, mouth gaping fruitlessly. It is several minutes before he can properly process the display, but to his confusion neither Nebula nor Loki seem perplexed by the ordeal. 

Eventually, he can no longer contain himself as etiquette might suggest he do. 

"What the fuck was that?"

Silence.

"No, seriously, what the fuck was that?" His voice might have cracked towards the end, but he doesn't care. Loki, burdened-with-glorious-purpose Loki, is kneeling before _him._

Perfectly black eyes stare blankly back into his horrified gaze. "He refilled the tray, as you requested of him. I fail to see the problem."

Tony tries to see what the crimson eyes have to tell him, but they remain focused on the floor.

"Nuh-uh, we're talking about this. What was with all the kneeling and crawling and..." His arms flail uselessly in an attempt to communicate what his words cannot.

The silence echoes through the empty space of the cargo hold. Then, a whisper breaks it.

"I am sorry to have upset you, Stark. Please let me know how I may make it up to you." The crimson eyes finally meet his, but they're all wrong. Glazed, confused, lifeless. They remind him of recent times he would much rather hide from. A saxe hand tipped in black claws reaches out for his leg and he instinctively pulls away.

The situation completely collapses from that moment. 

Loki flinches away in response to the rejection, curling into himself and muttering incomprehensibly. Tony occasionally catches a stray "heat" or "useful", but out of context they mean nothing to him. Nebula then proceeds to use what his mind can only process as a 'Howard Voice' on the huddled deity, which almost immediately takes Tony out of the equation as he runs to hurl all of his repressed anxiety into a nearby garbage can. Retching and heaving up his almost empty stomach, the past and present begin to merge in his head, until it consumes him entirely. 

_FailurePatheticUselessUnworthyDisasterSlutMoronEmbarassment_

"Get up, little godling, you cannot hide inside yourself. Get up, because otherwise I am going to have to force you too, and neither of us want that."

_JunkieDropkickDeadbeatAccidentDefectiveBastardMistake_

"Stop crying and sit up! You have a job to do!"

_DeplorableWretchedCissyFeebleSpinelessCoward_

"Don't make me take you back to the furnace, little godling. I know it does not agree with you."

_LiabilityUngrateful-_

Lagging behind a moment or two, Tony's brain returns to reality.

"Hold on a minute, RoboCop, take the _frost giant_ back where?"

* * *

Loki returns to reality during some uncouth bellowing match between the luphomoid and the human. What shocks him most is that the argument seems to pertain to him, and he has no explanation for why it does. The last thing he can remember is the three of them successfully sharing the tray of water, he doesn't even remember what caused him to vanish from the present. Disjointed, but also curious to how he has caused such a divide between the pair, he turns his hears to the argument at hand, where it is apparently Stark's turn to yell.

"All I'm hearing is that my co-pilot is a sociopath who puts literal ice-people into furnaces! Fucking furnaces! Now, I'm no biologist, but I do know what happens when you put a penguin in the middle of the Sahara! The penguin dies, it fucking dies!"

"And I am asking you, Stark, to consider the circumstances-"

Something hits the Titan's daughter in the shoulder, though it is at too high a speed to make out. Judging by Stark's proceeding limp, however, Loki makes the logical assumption that it was most likely the man's shoe. 

"He was having a panic attack! So was I, in fact, thank you for the help with that too!"

"Panic attack?"

Loki cannot say he is familiar with the word either, but Stark seems abhorred by this fact for some reason.

"A panic attack? It's where you get all out of breath and physically defensive?" There's a pause, as if he's waiting for a sudden moment of recognition from either one of them. "No? But Rudolph just- no, never mind. Not important. What is important is that he was not a threat, yet you felt the need to threaten him anyways! And don't even get be started on the 'take him back' bit, because that is all kinds of fucked! Exactly where did you two meet before here anyways?"

Loki exchanges a brief glance at the metalloid woman, allowing a hint of smugness to creep into his grin. Stark does not know the finer details of her past, it would seem. The endless minds she turned to bodies for her Father, and the bodies she broke into pieces. He will not say a word to Stark unprompted, he wouldn't be believed. Instead, he watches tensely as she formats her speech. Should she play this right, Stark may very well turn even further against him. However, should she misspeak...

Perhaps he could gain an ally, at the very least sympathy. It had been a while since he had truly had either. 

"We met aboard my Fa- Thanos' ship seven years ago. The story was that he had fallen from the sky; the fallen prince of Asgard. He was taken to Thanos, brought before his throne. That's where we discovered who we had really brought into our mix. The abandoned prince of Jotunheim. F- Thanos wanted things from him, and I was tasked with obtaining those things. You know my Father was a hard man to resist; now imagine that he was your father. You do what you must to prove yourself."

She had sugar-coated it, as Midgardians would say, but it was in essence the truth. He did not blame the cyborg for his time in those dungeons, merely feared her for it. Stark was perceptive enough to pick up on the more gruesome details she had omitted, however. 

"You tortured him."

"I obeyed."

While Stark appeared still hazy on the distinction, Loki understood. He could not judge her, having done the very same under his own tyrant Father. 

"Hold on a minute. You tortured him seven years ago, on behalf of Thanos." The gears in Stark's mind were beginning to twist, drawing a conclusion Loki had long believed unreachable. "Thanos sent Loki to Earth. Is that why you still distrust him, resent him? Because he failed?"

Nebula began to laugh. Though it was most probably beyond her control, Loki hated that it sounded just like her Father's. His mind could never differentiate the two enough, tearing between memories bent down in a golden antechamber, and memories pinned above sweltering coals. 

"I do not resent him for his failure, I commend him for it. I resent him for escaping. Someone had to be held responsible. Gamora never would have let the Jotunn runt dupe her, dupe Thanos himself!"

Ah. He had forgotten they were so alike in that regard. The cherished sibling, the halo in the dark. If they were to survive this ill-fated voyage, it was these small dots they would have to connect. And the rather big dots, such as mutilation, defenestration and attempted invasion would have to be ignored, but not forgotten.

Never forgotten, just as his scars would never heal.

"Family is rather disgustingly complicated, isn't it?"

Stark started at his sudden vocalisation, but otherwise seemed to agree with the sentiment, as did Nebula.

"It always starts with the dads, doesn't it? Why are their kids never enough for them, no matter how hard we try? I graduated university at eighteen, still an abysmal waste in his eyes. Oh wait; do you guys even get the university thing, or the eighteen thing? Like you're probably both a thousand or something-"

"The message is received, Stark." Strangely, Nebula appeared to have a genuine smile upon her face. "Fathers are indeed lacking in, well, everything."

"Perhaps it is because they funnel all their love, respect, decency into another source and it drains them through and through, 'til they have none left to share." It had certainly been no secret on Asgard who Odin preferred. 

As the other two chorused their agreement, a timer went off not far from where they sat. Stark clambered up to get it, still listening in as they bemoaned their disappointing male parents. Thankfully, none of them had been tactless enough to bring up mothers. Upon his return, Stark placed two cups and a bowl down in front of their group, each filled with lukewarm water.

"Forgot I had these kept around by the heater, no more need for doing it doggy-style, I mean, unless any of you are up for that..." Stark trailed off awkwardly, with both Loki and Nebula presenting bemused looks at his ramblings. "Anyways, here's to shitty fathers, and moving on from them." 

The cups and one bowl connected, making a slight clink as ceramic tips touched. Though a toast had been made, the extent to which it would be upheld seemed negligible, each crew member refusing to quite let go of insecurities buried far too deep for excavation to even begin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick clarification! No one in this fic, nor the author, are psychologists or anything of the sort! And Tony most certainly is not accurately defining a panic attack.
> 
> Also! This fic is part of my prompt fill series, so if any of you have any you’d like to see me have a go at, feel free to leave them in the comments! Other wise, I’m thinking of doing a frostiron high school au next, so feel free to add on to that idea!


	7. My Boy Builds Coffins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for all the reviews you guys have been leaving, they mean heaps! I am so so sorry this chapter took so long, writer's block is a bitch. Not exactly happy with this chapter, but I have exam season coming up so I wanted to get something out. Sorry if it's really heavy on the dialogue, I don't know what's happened to my brain. Full disclosure, there may be some continued delays because of my exams, but I try to keep updating as I can. Also, I may come back and edit this chapter later, just a heads up.

Once the second batch of water has been consumed, and the tray filled once more with his loathsome ice, Loki wants nothing more than to retreat to the pseudo-safety of his room. Unfortunately, Stark is of the complete opposite sentiment, running ahead of him and blocking his escape.

"Lokes! Hold up there, just a second, please." An unwelcome hand stretches out to grip his shoulder, hold him in his place. It's brushed away almost instantly, but then sends him reeling backwards through his memories as he waits for the retaliating blow. Of course, here aboard this dying ship, there isn't one. Nonetheless, he flinches, anticipating the worst, ensuring there is nothing to surprise him. "Lokes?"

Norns damn that infernal nickname; did the mortal think he was original in using it? Surely, he must realise others had already derived that from his name and humiliated him with it? Loki was almost entirely immune to the mockery that accompanied it, there was no need for the man to rub his colossal fall from grace.

"What is it, Stark?"

The engineer seemed to recoil slightly at his biting tone. "I... I just wanted to say thank you. You seemed a bit... uncomfortable doing it, so I thought I'd just say how much I appreciate the effort."

Oh. Well, that was surprisingly thoughtful.

"I am impressed you managed to deduce my aversion to this form. Your sentiment is also appreciated."

"Well, I mean, you weren't working that hard to hide it. You literally had to get drunk to even stomach filling up the tray."

Perhaps he had grown decreasingly subtle in his self-loathing. "I suppose it might have become apparent at that point. However, you were the one who got me to the point of inebriation."

The man before him chuckled lightly. It was a strange view, seeing one clouded with such lighthearted despair. The truth of the matter was they were most likely to die enclosed in this tomb, yet the mortal seemed to be unfazed by the concept.

"Fair, fair. Typical Tony." Another chuckle. There appeared to be some joke the former god was not privy to. "I, well, also wanted to say sorry."

"What in Hel's name could you have possibly done this time, Stark? I thought we had already moved past the heating incident." Stark still blocked his escape path, short stature hovering stubbornly across the doorframe. Why would he not simply let Loki go?

Stark's face grimaced with fluster, gaze awkwardly averted from Loki's. "For letting Nebula go off at you like that. I mean, I can understand why she did... all that, I've done awful things in the name of my dad too, but torture, I just feel like there's a line there..."

The first time Loki had looked at himself properly after his stint with the Titan and his family had been a pocket mirror on Midgard. It had taken hours to accept the reflection staring back at him; the cowardly, defeated puppet. In those hours, he had memorised every horror reflected in the gaunt shell he studied. Now, so many years later, it stared back at him once more, simply without the mirror.

"You have also been...?" The trail filled in for the word he could not bring himself to say.

"Yeah, they wanted weapons. Well, at least the last time it was weapons. There were the few one-offs, when I was a kid and all they wanted was an easy ransom, but the real shit only once."

It seemed the two of them shared more in common than he'd previously thought. "The price of wealthy parents is the crude whims of those who wish to exploit it. My entire upbringing was almost a ransom in itself, the theft of a dying realm's last hope."

A low whistle pierced the air. "You reckon there's anymore alcohol stashed around here? I feel like this conversation needs some liquid courage."

The offer was tempting, a hazy blur of anger, pain and rejection neither of them would truly remember. Anaesthesia for chronic wounds. With such hurt surrounding his recent past, however, perhaps it would do him better to actually hold onto his former self, before he lost him in his entirety.

"We are already incapacitated enough, Stark. Besides, I have already been plenty generous with my words without further spirits."

In a jesting symbol of mock-defeat, Stark raised and lowered his hands. "Fair, fair, you got me. About time you stopped enabling me; Nebula's probably right about needing it for 'medical purposes' anyways. Don't see why we can't keep talking without it, though."

The sanctum of his bedroom called, but something glinting in the carob eyes before him cried out louder.

* * *

It turns out living off of tight rations and little sleep reduced one's tolerance for alcohol severely. Tony could swear he handled himself much more stoically on much, much more, yet here he was, stumbling giddily towards his room. Somewhere behind him, he believed Loki to be following, but he wasn't exactly certain on his location. The world didn't make sense to him in the moment, but in his head there was logic to his actions. Though if he was asked later why he led the two of them to his bedroom, he'd struggle to produce any sort of coherent answer. Instinct, he'd probably say, but it wouldn't quite be right. As he entered the room, he dove straight for his cot, not noticing the figure lingering in the door frame.

"You coming, Princess?"

Cobalt skin flushed with a deep indigo, steady breaths began to hitch.

_What is it this time, Tony? What the hell did you do now?_

Trembling knees fell the to floor, straight back and cowed head.

"Fuck, Lokes, what'd I do? Shit, shit- Rudolph?"

Unsteady hands crept tentatively forward, crawling like a child towards the bed.

"Hey, no, no- stop that!" The same hands were now slowly revealing more and more blue with every article and layer they removed. Not that Tony didn't appreciate the view; the trance-like nature of the show, however, was ruining the mood.

Cautiously, he reached for one of said hands, loosely gripping it with his own. "It's alright, yeah? Just me, everyone's favourite mortal, the one and only Tony Stark. You can stop the crawling shit, okay?"

Though the red eyes lacked pupils of any sort, if there had been any they would have been wide with scepticism and disorientation. "St-Stark?" The undressing took a pause, hands lowered to the floor.

"Yes! Yes, it's me, Tony. What the fuck was that, Bambi?"

The indigo flared, violently dispersing across the god's face. To Tony's shock and horror, tears began to fall from the bleary eyes before him, slowly at first, before rolling freely and rapidly, racketing sobs accompanying them. Soon, he was left with a ball of blue curled at the end of his bed, half-dressed and barely present.

"I- I'm sorry, I d-didn't mean to-"

With no alternate plan of action coming to mind, Tony reached out a hand to begin rubbing along the tense shoulders before him as they shook. "Shh, shh, Bambi, you don't have to apologise. Just breathe for now, please?"

Loki made an attempt at a few deep breaths, shuddery and uneven. "I shall return t-to my room n-now, relieve you of my pr-presence."

The proud idiot actually made an attempt to stand; however, his legs buckled almost immediately and he wound up landing beside Tony in the bed.

"You don't have to go Loki, we were actually meant to be chatting right now anyways. Shitty dads and all those riveting adventures torture and abduction?"

_Not everything can be solved with jokes, Tony. Mocking the past won't change it, won't undo the damage._

He shook his head, scattering the thought. Fuck that. How else was he meant to process heavy emotions? It wasn't like the fucking ship came equipped with a therapist.

There was no response from Loki, merely the sound of heavy breathing which hovered ominously between them. Tony let his back fall flat against the mattress, mirroring the god beside him, inhaling and exhaling in a tranquil rhythm together.

"So, Cupid, everything alright now? You back?" Craning his neck sideways, he received several curt nods. "Good. Good. Do you... I mean- Fuck. Do you need to talk about it?"

It was a thin veil for his curiosity, but a curtain nonetheless.

"You wish to hear of my suffering? Has the Titan's daughter not given you enough ideas?"

"No- goddamn, you are one smarmy arsehole. I'm just trying to figure out what exactly I did to send you spiralling into," he waved his hands aimlessly above him, "that. And besides, I know it can help, getting it all out."

The bed creaked beneath them, dipping as the trickster rose to sit. "Truly, you are just asking to help?"

What the fuck had he gotten himself into? He could have sworn he hadn't signed up for anything remotely like this when he'd joined onto the Avengers Initiative. "Yeah, I promise. Or do I have to like swear an oath, 'cause you're a god and all? Never mind, point is, I just want to help, really."

Scarlet eyes narrowed, scrutinising every inch of his face. "The nickname. It does not embody the best of times for me."

Tony felt his throat dry instantaneously. "Which one?"

"Do not force me to say it." A cold, hard glare. "I do not believe I could force myself if I tried." It softened.

"Twenty questions, okay, we can work this. Is it the reindeer ones? Cupid, Blitzen, Rudolph?"

"As irritating as they are, no."

"Bambi?"

A shake of the head. "I do not even know what it is supposed to refer to."

Layered leather, billowing cape and golden horns appeared in his mind. It was strange to think that the bright blue creature before him was the same conquering bastard.

"He's a cartoon deer, from Earth. Doesn't matter now." Maybe if they ever reached the planet again, he could actually find a reference picture. Or the whole film. "Is it Lokes?"

A shallow nod, a nervous gulp. "Yes. And there is one other, pertaining to my royal status."

God-fucking-dammit. "Princess?" A poorly disguised wince. "Shit, I'm sorry, Bam- Loki. Don't tell me I've been taking you back to Thanos' ship every time I've opened my stupid mouth?"

At that, a disturbing cackle broke out from the failed king. "It has been seven years since my first stint with the Titan, sufficient time for much worse nightmare fodder to plague me."

Was it bad that he could relate? Seemed to not only understand, but have lived the very sentiments driving the madman before him? Because, yeah, Afghanistan had been horrific, scarring, traumatising; but it had only been the iceberg's tip. Life never seemed to run out of shit to throw at him, and it Loki appeared to be one to relate. So did that make him crazy too? Well, he reasoned, it was far too late to do anything about it if it did. And honestly, giving it even the smallest thread of a thought, he probably was nuts. It would take a fucking lunatic to follow his footsteps. It figured then that a lunatic would have had to make the steps to begin with.

"No rest for the wicked, right?"

"The time I spent aboard that escape pod was the most peaceful time I have enjoyed for an eon, it feels. I should have died at least four-times over, in the past eight years alone. The brink of death is a rather cumbersome point to return from."

Afghanistan, shrapnel in his chest. Obadiah's traitorous hands around his arc reactor. Palladium in his veins. His weightless body falling backwards out his own window, then moments later through the void. Bodies crumbling to dust before him.

"Yeah, it is. Hey, if you don't mind me asking, what happened with you, Thor and Bruce? They didn't have much time to explain after their ship landed, but they seemed to think you were dead. That Thanos killed you when you failed to give over the Tesseract. But I mean, you're here and you're blue and I have so many questions. But, only if you're okay with it. I don't want to trigger another panic attack or anything."

Loki frowned slightly, mulling over his words. 

“Panic attack. You mentioned that before. I am afraid I still do not understand the word.”

For all that Asgard claimed to be so advanced and above the puny mortals, their understanding of mental health seemed to be severely lacking. Potentially non-existent. 

“Well, it’s kind of like your flight or fight response, except it can happen even when you’re not in any specific danger. You get all physically worked up because you perceive a threat, even if there’s not one there. I’m not a psychologist or anything, so I don’t exactly know if I’m explaining it right, but that’s the gist of it. Maybe the better word for you would be flashback, I’m not sure, but whatever happened back there with the kneeling? That’s what I’m talking about. It’s not normal, I would like to avoid triggering it again.”

God, was it even possible for him to have a serious conversation without babbling inanely?

”Flashback. Yes, I think that would apply. If my mind is going back to another time, confusing the present and past?”

”Yes! That’s it! So, yes, I have questions, but only if it’s not going to bring on a flashback.”

The god pursed his lips in contemplation before speaking. "I believe I am well enough. Go ahead, what is it specifically you wish to know?"

Shit. He'd already gotten way farther than he'd anticipated. "Okay, okay, let's start with where you found Bruce, because even he wasn't sure where he spent the last couple of years."

Awkwardly shuffling in his seat, Loki prepared to answer the question. Tony can read the discomfort on his face, painful memories displayed in excruciating detail. 

"The planet is known as Sakaar. It is the place of all lost and unwanted things."

"Hey! That's my friend you're talking about!" 

"Stark, I wish the planet was known for anything else. I ended up there myself, after all. And, though I may be biased, I do believe I had the worse experience."

Right. Dangerous territory, a topic to be adverted. He was just about to divert the conversation to something more Loki-friendly, when a small voice interrupted him. 

"If I recall correctly, he spent five years fighting in the gladiatorial contests that serve as the planet's primary form of entertainment. Their leader, he picks and chooses from the broken relics his Scrappers collect, discarding those unworthy, grooming those shiny treasures which catch his eye."

"Let me guess, you got discarded? Yeah, that's gotta hur-"

Something connected hard and fast with his cheek. When his senses had recovered enough to assess his surroundings, he deduced it must of been the hand the trickster before him was currently shaking. Loki's cheeks were flushed, but this time not with stress or anxiety. 

_Do you ever know when to keep your mouth shut? Are you even capable of closing it?_

Red eyes glowed darkly, the passion of repressed ire burning strong. "I'll have you know Stark, I was bought for a notably high fee. I simply didn't end up in the bloodbath of the battlefield. Do not speak of what you do not understand. Have you ever experienced the _delightful_ feeling of being categorised as private property? No? Oh, well, please, continue to mock my fear of rejection after a lifetime of it."

_You, Tony Stark, are a selfish, antisocial bastard._

Truthfully, he had expected to see a back storming towards the door, which would be then fairly slammed in frustration. Instead, the figure beside him seemed to shrink, anger dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. 

Were those tears, dripping quietly down his face? Tony was afraid of the answer. So instead of talking, because he was honestly unsure he could actually say anything right at this point, he wrapped his arms around the sobbing mess, hands gently stroking up and down an icy back, brushing through knotted ebony locks. 

And to his surprise, desperate arms hugged back.


	8. Hurricane Drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all; I am very very sorry. Exam time is not a good time. Not a vibe, 10/10 do not recommend. Secondly, I know it's a little short but I'm out of energy at the moment, so again, feel free to blame my exams. Please let me know how you guys are feeling? It really means a lot to me to hear what y'all are thinking/feeling. Feel free to leave a prompt if you are so inclined.
> 
> T/W: ED trigger warning, won't be part of this fic, but food shortage and rationing is going to come up a bit in the next few chapters and I know that can sometimes bring up unhelpful thoughts. Stay safe!

Oh Norns, what had he done? Debased himself so thoroughly, sobbing in the lap of a mortal like an infant. Torn off the guise he had woven around himself, stripped himself bear. At least it was nothing worse than anything he'd done before.

Who was he kidding? He'd fallen so low, there was no where left to plummet, save a dying ship and its desperate crew.

Stark's body radiated warmth, a heat he'd longed for ever since his world had turned to ice. The mere semblance of his Aesir body mocked him, drawing him in with that which he could never get back. Despite himself, he leant into it, loosing himself in the illusion, if only for a moment of peace. An equally duplicitous hand stroked slowly through his hair, mellowing the chill of his weary head. Would he ever be well-rested? His body seemed to protest the very idea, even while his mind pleaded for respite. 

Was it a respite? He had to be sure. Though the hand seemed innocent, his mind could never purge the feeling of other innocuous hands as they gradually slipped lower and lower. Not again. He had survived. He was free. As free has he could ever hope to be. His eyes opened slowly, afraid to break the spell and take him back to that which he fled. 

Brown eyes, brown hair, brown goatee. Loki wasn't quite sure who to thank, but he was immensely grateful nonetheless. He was safe. For now. And that was enough. 

"Loki?"

It was strange, hearing his name from another's lips. It had been such a long time, or at least that was how it felt to him. He'd lost his perception of time, stolen away with his dignity too many times. 

"Yes?" His throat was raw, voice cracked and soft. Once again, he was reminded of his shameful collapse.

The hand slipped lower, though only to cup his cheek. Tolerable, at least for the present moment. "Feel any better now?"

A fair question, Loki supposed. Which of course did not mean he had any sort of appropriate answer. "I am present, does that suffice?"

Stark ruffled his hair affectionately. Surprisingly, he didn't mind. Not even a little bit. A caress felt nice, when it wasn't dominating, patronising and possessive. "I suppose we'll have to settle for that. Here with me is better than there with... well, anyone from the planet that shall not be named."

The affection began to irk Loki slightly. He could not recall earning it, though much of the last few hours were a shaky haze. 

"Where has this sudden affection come from, Stark? What have I done to evoke such behaviour? What did I do to warrant these tender touches and warm words? Tell me now, for I do not remember and left to fill in the blanks. I warn you, those gaps will not be endearing towards you."

The engineer shifted, appearing to contemplate his next words. A wise decision, really. Loki would not be cornered again. 

"Maybe it's because I'm clingy, touchy and grabby; leaching onto anything and everything, refusing to let go. Maybe it's because I'm lonely and you let me in and now I'm refusing to leave. Maybe because I've been through just a fraction of what you have and know exactly what I wanted, needed afterwards. I'm not sure, but I'm sorry if it's unwanted. I promise, I'll stop if it's not helping."

That certainly was not the response he had been anticipated. Not that that made it inherently negative. The emotional dependency of a mortal was much preferred to the unjust insinuations of the vulture of Sakaar. 

_"I helped you, so now, you're going to help me out, right Lokes?"_

_"Just a smile, Princess, it's the least you can do for your saviour."_

_"Would you prefer the arena? To be cast back into the void you fell from? Then get down, slowly."_

_"I'm the only one who loves you, you know that, don't you Princess? You're so lucky to have me."_

He shook the past away, pushing it to the back of his mind. "I did not say it was not of assistance." 

It was sweet, the way Tony blushed at his simple words. 

* * *

They were really going to have to find some alien planet soon, else starvation was seeming an increasingly likely end for Tony and his crew. Ever since he'd coaxed Loki into eating once a day along with the rest of him and Nebula, their remaining supplies had plummeting drastically. With only six sachets left, moral had significantly dropped. Words were decreasingly wasted, energy increasingly hoarded. Days were spent reluctantly sat in the control room, desperately scouring for any hint of civilisation. Tony's hand held Loki's in a vague attempt to ground him, fearing that prolonged proximity to both Nebula and the general immensity of space had a high potential for sparking another flashback.

They'd decided to spread the consumption of the last two sachets out with the hopes of extending their search period, but their efforts so far had proved to be in vain. As per their meal planning, Loki received the final dish. The mix-matched and paternally neglected team gathered morosely around the kitchen table, Nebula's eyes half focused on a video of the Benatar's dash. There was no room for distraction or error. No chance of them surviving should they let down their guard, even for a few moment. 

A clatter, metal crashing against stone. "I cannot eat this. You two should share it amongst yourselves, it would be wasted on me."

Placing his hand placatingly on the god's shoulder, Tony spoke gently into his ear. 

"We've spoken about this, Loki, it's only fair you eat your designated portion. We're not any more deserving of it than you."

Black eyes darted up quickly from a blinking screen. "Stark, if he insists we share, I don't exactly see why we can't split it between the three of us."

Tony sent a scowl in Nebula's direction, only deepened by Loki's hopeful expression at her words. 

"Yes, Tony, could we not do as the Titaness says? I would simply feel for at ease if the final rations were distributed evenly."

Fuck, Loki played his cards in. How was he supposed to resist 'Tony'?

It seemed it was now Nebula's turn to frown. "You are well aware I have no true connection to that _monster_ and its foul race."

"Just as you are well aware I am in no respect a god, I have no been truly so since my very first fall. Nor have I ever been a _godling._ Alter your own vocabulary and I will adjust mine accordingly."

Two sets of blue hands began tightly gripping the available surfaces, eyes locked in a fierce battle of stubbornness. Before fists, knives and irrevocable words could be thrown, Tony stepped between the feuding pair. 

"Okay, okay, let's calm down, first of all. I learnt my lesson with the nicknames last week, with individuals as reactive and fickle as ourselves, I think we can all agree it's simply best to stay away from them completely. New rule, names only- first names only. Let's just cut out all association with anyone beyond this ship. Right now, it's just Tony, Loki and Nebula. Agreed?" Both combatants stared the other down, daring the other to protest first. Thankfully, both aliens were too headstrong to give and left an affirming silence instead. "Excellent! Now, Loki, I believe you were about to eat your food."

Tentatively, the Trickster gripped his spoon once more. "If you insist, Tony." So much sarcasm in so few words. He had to be doing it on purpose, the curl in his voice when he spoke Tony's name. Had to know what it was doing to his chest. It was strange, but not entirely unprecedented, that Tony had latched himself onto Loki in just two short weeks. He hadn't initially understood the attachment, but the more he saw of the cracked figure before him, the more he saw himself. 

_Ever the narcissist, aren't we, Tony?_

God, that voice was something he go without. It did nothing to his chest and everything to his mind, dragging it down to drown in the depths of his fragile heart. For a second time, the spoon clattered on the tabletop.

"Loki, you haven't finished."

"But Tony, I have eaten my share, as we discussed. The remained is for you and Nebula, Tony. I believe we all agreed upon it, yes?" That settled it. It was definitely intentional- smarmy bastard. 

"Fine. You don't have to finish it, but I'm not having any of it. Nebula, you can finish it off if you want."

A flash of movement, a knife pressed lightly against his pulsing throat. "Eat the imitation curry, Tony."

What the fuck was with his luck in companions? Was it just his luck to be repeatedly stuck with certifiably unstable allies, teammates and friends? Begrudgingly, he ate the gruel posing as curry. 

Spooning it into his mouth slowly, careful not to spill a drop, he turned to Nebula. "Thanks for the help, by the way."

To that, she simply shrugged. "Three heads are better than one."

* * *

Loki found Tony sitting pessimistically on the edge of his bed, head buried in his lap, fingers running harshly through his tussled hair. Upon Loki's approach, the head shot up, red-rimmed eyes reminding him of his own tragic state.

"We're going to die alone in this ship, aren't we?"

The human's voice wavered with emotion, tears held back by a hairsbreadth. Everything about the picture was wrong, Tony was the golden hero; charismatic, capable and confident. Tony was not a broken doll as Loki was, a puppet without strings. It wasn't meant to be like this, the lost comforting the hope. Irrespective of the scene's absurdity, Loki found himself playing along, taking a cautious seat beside the man and replacing brutal fingers with his own. 

"Yes, Tony, we may very well die aboard this vessel. But we are only alone as long as we isolate ourselves."

Those gorgeous carob eyes met his hideous scarlet orbs. Somehow, their hands were touching, carefully testing the waters they had suddenly slipped into. "I suppose I do have you, Loki."

Tony could never understand how wonderful it felt to hear his name spoken as such. With care, respect, recognition. It was more impersonal than the nicknames, yet infinitely more intimate. 

"I have no where else to be, no other place I'd prefer to go. Even if it keeps me contained within this death trap." Instead of replying in kind, Tony merely sighed. "I am sorry you have not been able to make amends to your lover."

Tony gave a dark chuckle, the kind Loki was all too familiar with. "Pepper's not my lover. Not after everything. We were getting married, you know? Before I fucked it all up. She doesn't deserve to be my lover, but she does deserve an apology. If I ever make it back, that's all I want to say to her, I'd leave her alone for good after that."

"It is noble of you to think that Tony, though I fail to see how you could be considered unworthy. Too often we hoard treasures we have not earnt, I myself am far too guilty of this. I stake a claim upon others that is entirely fictional and unreciprocated."

Cold and hot linked together, their hands finally settling in the others'. 

"Well, if you need a mutual relationship, I'm here."

"So I can become the unworthy one? It is quite alright Tony, I am used to imbalance."

The hand squeezed tight, forcing a gasp from his mouth.

"Don't say that shit, Loki. If you're unworthy, then so am I. And I don't know if they teach mathematics on Asgard, but on Earth, two negatives make a positive."

"That is a ridiculous notion, Tony. _Mathematics_ cannot apply to the morality of an individual's soul."

Had they continued to move closer this entire time? Loki did not remember pressing his body up alongside the other's. 

"Oh yeah? Well, good luck convincing me. I have a phD in mathematics."

And then the mortal, that insolent, arrogant mortal, leant in and kissed him. And Loki may have kissed him back. And maybe, just maybe, he might have liked it. 


	9. Kiss With A Fist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry the updates have been sporadic and short lately, it's just been not the most vibing of times. But I appreciate all of you who are reading, so thank you!

_Seven Weeks Prior_

Above, or maybe it's behind, there's a murmuring. Some vague words thrown meaninglessly his way. 

Actually, scrap that. They're probably not even intended for him. It's most likely for the best he can't make them out, that the haze blurs the line he so amenably crossed. The line that's brought him here, pinned beneath a body he can't even locate. Why must he be such an incompetent wreck? A broken toy, a cart without wheels? He's lucky to be here, have a job his feeble mind can manage. 

Mind might be a stretch. He hardly has use for that anymore. 

He used to be a strategist, constantly calculating and drafting daring escapades and feats. Now, he can't remember the last intellectual thought he had. Most likely it had something to do with his initial acquiring of his esteemed position under the Master of this loathsome planet for loathsome creatures.

 _Under._ Such a poor choice of words, really, considering his current engagement. 

Hands pull at his head, bring unfocused eyes from their dazed staring. Perhaps the pull is harsh, perhaps it tears at his scalp and pinches his jaw, but at least the touch is there. Warm, solid hands he imagine are cupping his cheek; a lover's caress. 

"I love you, Princess. You know that, right?" Blue tinted lips are moving, but he can't truly recognise the words. All he can muster is a vaguely affirmative murmur, he hopes it pleases the hands stroking his body so affectionately. 

It's not enough. The hands stop their wonderful ministrations, striking where they once softly gripped.

Really, the softly is relative, a desperate illusion, but his mind refuses to acknowledge it. He has to be happy here, else there's nothing left for him to have. 

"Princess... uh, that's really not going to cut it. You realise how lucky you, uh, are to be here, yeah? To have me, uh, looking after you?"

Of course he does. How could he have slipped up like that, scorned the person to whom his life was owed? The single being who cared even one iota for his miserable self? He was lucky the Grandmaster was giving him another chance like this, discreetly reminding him of his place. 

"Please, forgive me, Grandmaster. I am truly grateful for my position here. And of course, I am most enamoured with you as well." He leans up to catch those tinted lips, meeting them with his own, apologising with every touch. He wasn't sure why his own mouth tasted so venomous at his own words.

* * *

It was Loki who first broke their kiss, but Tony didn't mind, particularly when his mouth began roaming elsewhere. The other seemed on autopilot, as if performing a well-rehearsed dance. Hands. Mouth. Tongue. Tony's own hands began to rejoin, weaving themselves into icy strands of ebony hair. Subconsciously, he pulled them, directing the body atop him where his own body needed it most. In response, Loki seemed to freeze. 

Instantly, Tony raised his hands in a symbol of peace, unsure what kind of reaction to anticipate. 

Red eyes lifted to meet his, a worryingly familiar haze present within them. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I wasn't doing good enough, Stark, please forgive me. I promise I shall make it up to you."

"Hey, hey. What exactly are you meant to be making up for? I'm all good here."

Confusion flooded the face before him and rebounded into Tony's own mind. What on Earth- fuck, no- What the hell was going on? Perhaps if he knew anything definite about the god's history, he could actually be useful, instead of firing questions like a hyperactive child.

_God, Tony, it's like your empathy processors are defective._

"You... you pulled my hair... you were not displeased?"

Fuck. Was it too much to ask for a shred of normalcy in his life? Just for one second, could everyone be happy and healthy?

"No, Loki, it's just, something that people do sometimes... when it's good."

This. This was exactly why he didn't want to have a child. 

"Oh. Do you want me to keep going then?" 

Tony wrapped his arms around the other man in response, pulling his cooler body in close. "Why don't we just lie here for a bit? I don't think either of us really have enough energy for this right now."

"You don't want me? I am sorry if I misread the situation." Despite his words, Loki burrowed deeper into Tony's offered embrace. Tony just squeezed tighter in response. 

"Nah, I actually think you're pretty sexy. But, I don't think we should be trying anything too much, I get the feeling it might cause a flashback for you."

Tony didn't want to imagine where that flashback would take Loki. Didn't want to put together the puzzle pieces he'd been slowly collecting since the escape pod had first been brought aboard.

"Ah. That is considerate of you, though it is not necessary. You need not tread so much around my weaknesses, they are mine to handle." Huh. Was that disappointment? 

"I suppose we could come to a compromise." Once again, their lips met, Loki responding hungrily. 

What the hell- surely he was entitled to this, at the very least. 

* * *

Waking up half-clothed besides Tony in a foreign bed was a strange experience indeed. With his eyes shut, Loki had initially felt only the heat of an unseen body and the deceptively comforting pressure of a mattress, leading him to immediately assume the worst. It had taken several glances, touches and kisses to remind himself that this bed was not to be dreaded. This bed was not a reward, a temporary reprise from the marbled throne-room floors. This bed he had been invited into, this bed he had willingly- eagerly- accepted. He had chosen this from want, not need. 

Despite the copious reassurances both he and Tony gave himself, it was hard not to think of the bed as a bribe. To push away the shameful pride and relief he felt at having wrought Tony sufficient pleasure to be given the privilege of a bed shared with a lover. It did not help Tony's bed was a substantial upgrade from the cot in which he had previously slept. 

Turning to the man in question, he was met with a bright-eyed grin. Before their exchange could go any further, however, they were interrupted by a brief knock followed by the thud of a door thrown hastily open. 

"Stark- Tony, I-" It took Nebula a moment to realise what exactly the scene before her was. "Oh. Well. As sorry as I am to interrupt whatever was happening in here, I think you'd both better come with me. That is, unless, you would prefer to just keep eating each other's dicks instead of some actual food."

Beside him, Tony sat up, uncaring of his own state of undress. "Jealous are we? There's no need, really, there's plenty to go around. I'm sure we could be convinced to share." The mortal flexed his eyes lewdly, completely ignorant of Nebula's true message. Loki, however, was not so unobservant, and lightly whacked Tony over the head on both his and Nebula's behalf.

"Tony, this is not the time, listen to what she is trying to say." Indeed, there was a growing lightness in Loki's own chest, matching the dawning enlightenment of his lover's own face.

"...actual food? You mean, honest to god food?"

"And some form of civilisation, it seems. Scans detected a large population of life forms."

In his excitement, Tony practically leaped from the bed, leaving an enticing warmth behind. As he felt himself leaning towards the spot where his lover had just lay, a rush of self-loathing filled Loki's mind. Was he truly so desperate for affection, so touched-starved and lonely, that he was falling so wantonly into any semblance of care? How easily he had been transformed to such a pitiful creature. 

Worn hands wrapped around his own, squeezing gently, pulling him back from his drifting thoughts. "Babe- Loki, sorry- did you hear that? People and food! We might actually make it back to Earth!"

Earth. Midgard. Of course, it was the obvious destination, the unanimously selected one. Thanos was bound for there next, surely, and Tony's home realm. Thor would also be there, if all had gone well after his supposed death. That was good, Loki told himself. He could apologise to Thor, then leave him to his life unbothered. There was no way Loki would be welcome amongst the Asgardians; the tarnished whore their King had risked his life for. Perhaps, if he were to warm up to Nebula, she would allow him her company until he could find a permanent settlement- preferably off-realm. 

Tony, after all, would be finished with him well before their journey was complete. Unless-

No. Tony wouldn't want to keep him.

Surely not. He would have his woman back, she'd be a fool not to accept him back. An ungrateful fool.

Loki could not hope to be worthy enough. Could not cling to fanciful notions of sharing Tony's bed beyond their current venture. 

He would not need a partner.

And Loki doubted he would have need for a pet, though if he was honest with himself, he would willingly fall back on his old habits if it would sway the man's heart.

Tony was a good man, however. An Avenger.

How could Loki ever hope to compare?

* * *

Disembarking the Benatar was possible the best experience of Tony's life; feeling solid ground, being rooted by natural gravity to a planetary surface, that had to be a close second. Tony had no clue what the planet or its inhabitants were named, but he didn't care. That was for Loki and Nebula- gifted with their magical translation abilities- to determine. All he had to was sit back and enjoy being the first human to touch whatever this place was and enjoy the wonders of having a newly acquired... boyfriend? Lover? Partner? No. None of those names sounded exactly right, either too definitive or possessive. What he and Loki, at least for the current moment, felt much more casual; intimacy brought on by need and compatibility. God, Tony wasn't even sure it would last once they reached Earth. Loki would probably just fuck off with his brother the moment they touched down.

But damn did Tony hope it could continue. He had no clue who he'd have left when he returned, no idea who would be waiting to stand by him. There was an insistent yearning in his heart for just one person locked in place within his life. A single soul he could rely on when he returned to face his monumental hoard of mistakes and regrets. Be it the would-be conqueror of Earth or otherwise. 

It was a selfish fantasy, of that Tony was most certainly aware. He had wrought enough destruction in his life from ignorance already, there was no need to add his trickster-god to the list. How could he ask Loki to abandon his brother, his people, in the name of some throw-away rounds in dead man's bed. 

That being said, he would hold onto their serendipitous affair as long as he could. The locals of what's-it-called had apparently offered them lodgings for the night, with Nebula oh-so-kindly arranging for he and Loki to share a bed.

Despite the filthy places his mind first went, it could also prove an excellent chance to discuss long-term arrangements- or the lack thereof. 

If Loki didn't want to stick with him, that was fine. 

There was no pressure.

It was completely understandable, really. 

Who would?

* * *

That night, as both men dressed for bed, the unspoken question hung in the air. Resting heavily at the forefront of both their minds, though neither moved to acknowledge it. Tension clouded the room, settling in the space they left between one another. Through the window, the soft trickle of a fountain could be heard, the sound drifting aimlessly from the courtyard of their temporary accomodations. It was almost enough to fill the silence, bridge the awkward gap between the two bodies. Almost.

"Hey, so, have you got any plans for once we reach Earth?" Predictably, Tony broke the silence first.

An anonymous set of footsteps passed by their door, tapping echoing against the stone. 

"Well, I must see Thor; he should know I remain alive. But after that, nothing definite. I assure you, I do not intend to remain on Midgard, if that is your concern."

"No, no, not at all! I mean, it might cause a bit of a storm with a couple of people, but I reckon you'd be alright. Besides, you could crash with Thor, right? I don't think anyone would want to fight him on it."

Some alien creature cried out wearily, calling into the night. 

"I do not wish to burden Thor. He will be busy with the rest of Asgard's citizens, and they have no time for me." 

"Oh, well, you're always welcome to stay with me, you know? I mean, not that you have to or anything, I'm not trying to-"

* * *

_Seven Weeks Prior_

The tiles in the throne-room are awfully cold beneath his body, but he is curled upon them nonetheless. There's hands running over him, lips whispering in his ear.

"I'm so glad you decided to stay with me, my sweet Princess. Isn't it nice, knowing you'll never have to leave again?"

What other option does he have but to agree?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I sorry for the cliffhanger? Yes. Do I regret it? Not yet.


	10. Never Let Me Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. So so sorry. I don't have an excuse, but I do have a thousand apologies?
> 
> I swear I'm going to finish this however, as well as the other prompts I've been left, even if it takes a while.

Why was he like this? Throwing money at the people he cared about, trying to lure them in before they saw the pitiful man buried beneath the billions. As if Loki would ever want to come live with him, waste his hours away, trapped inside the lonesome walls of Stark Tower. All his stupid offer had done was offer up his frail ego on a platter, vulnerable to destruction at the hands of the god before him. 

Thankfully, he'd cut himself off before he could ramble himself into an even deeper hole, but the silence left was almost just as bad. So, he did what Tony Stark did best, and tried to fill the quiet void himself. 

"I'm sorry, Loki, really, it was a stupid suggestion. I'm sure you've got much better things to be doing than mope around with me. Like, there's probably some super bad-arse vengeance you have planned, some intergalactic space-mage shit planned you wouldn't want some mortal dragging you down in. Not that I wouldn't love to come, I mean, at the moment I'd probably go anywhere with you- but you just probably don't need that."

Tony couldn't decide if the air was burning or freezing; he knew it wasn't right, but he couldn't place why. If he was honest, he didn't even really care, it was just another distraction from every second he wasn't receiving an answer from the god beside him. 

"But I don't mean to force you. Shit. Please don't feel pressured to spare my feelings or whatnot. I can handle it, really."

_Face it, Tony, no one is desperate enough to be willing stuck with your sorry arse._

Is the air hot or cold?

Still or billowing?

Loveable or pathetically broken?

The air is elusive, his shortcomings invasive.

"Forget I even spoke. Seriously, just don't even worry."

Facing his messes alone is a rather daunting prospect, but it's honestly all he expected. He doesn't deserve anyone cleaning up after him anymore.

* * *

Loki wants to take Tony's offer more than anything, wants to hold the man tight and not let go. His affection is unyielding, addicting. He is well and truly hooked. In the dark of their room, the 'yes' forms on his lips, but makes no sound. Every time he goes to take that final leap, he is back chained within a grand tower, life shackled to the whim of a single man. And no matter how much he tells himself Tony is different, that he'd be free to leave the minute things turned bad, his voice refuses to comply. So he listens to the man demean himself, reprimand himself for his offer, saying nothing. Lying passively, silently, complicit in yet another's destruction. 

Maybe, it would be better to just agree with the man. Indulge him, lest he cause the man further grief than he already has. He should take the love offered to him, the shred of intimacy he has available, the feelings he is undeserving of, while he still can.

Still, he doesn't speak.

All he can convince himself to do is twist towards the shorter man, wrap arms around his torso and squeeze gently; refusing to dismiss him, despite his uncooperative voice.

By the time he finally feels capable of speech, they have already left the small planet, loaded with supplies and a welcome picture of hope. Together, they make for Midgard, regardless of their plans beyond arrival. After so long in perpetual isolation, arriving almost seems enough. 

But Loki knows it will hardly be the end for him, for any of them. Not only does the Mad Titan still loom over them, as much a threat as ever, but he is yet to develop any sort of long term plan. As tempting as Tony's offer might be, he know finds himself hesitant to bring it up so long after the moment has passed. 

He knows the consequences of appearing too willing.

But Norns does he know the consequences of rejection too. 

And when he thinks about it, draws on all those buried memories, he eventually finds his answer. 

Starvation is much more painful than suffocation. 

* * *

There's an incessant buzzing lurking beneath Tony's skin, an excited trembling flowing from his chest. Earth is just three days away. He's actually going to make it, going to get the chance at redemption he knows he doesn't deserve. The ecstasy consuming him circulates his brain indefinitely, the giddy high of hope the only thing sustaining him. The obnoxious grin across his face masks the anxiety beneath, the inescapable fear of rejection and abandonment only furthered by Loki's recent distance. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure what had drawn him to the god, only that the urge had been rather sudden and rather overwhelming, a momentary connection that had sparked something significantly deeper. Whatever had they had between them, it was like recycling; two discarded objects that together could be put to good use. Only half the object was being cast aside again, dismissed by its worthier partner. Loki deserved freedom, and if that's what he wanted then Tony knew he had no right to stop him. But some sort of acknowledgement would be appreciated. It would be okay, however, Tony would be fine. For now, he just had to focus on the important things; fixing the fucking train wreck he had left behind. 

Outside the Benatar's window, the universe whipped by at an incomprehensible speed. Planets, stars and asteroids were nothing but blurs, smudges on the glass panes. As he hid himself among the vanishing galaxies, a frigid arm slipped around him waist, arctic lips pressed to his neck. A silence sits between them, though this time with the comfort of a home. 

"I've never looked at them like this. I'm supposed to be the unremarkable spot, the puny speck within the infinite plane of reality; yet there they go, disappearing in a heart beat before my eyes."

Tony Stark should be insignificant, unimportant, irrelevant. Tony Stark should never have been allowed any sort of value. Perhaps half the world would not be gone had someone even remotely functional filled his shoes instead. 

"The universe is a fluid thing, Tony, she cannot be contained nor comprehended. What matters is us, we cannot think to understand our place lest we focus on ourselves."

Tony turns at this, meeting red eyes with his own. "On us?" Surely not. His mind is screaming at him the words are nothing but a taunt, but his heart is drowning the thoughts as they are born.

The monochrome eyes turn downwards, some imperfection on the floor of sudden and great import. 

"You must know, before I found you, I was with another." Was? "He gave the impression he cared for me deeply, adored me, loved me. But it wasn't me he held those feelings for, merely the image I had crafted specifically for his relentless gaze. I loathed the creature I became for him, yet relished in the resulting affection bestowed upon me. I do not know if I can ever forgive myself for any of it, but I cannot even begin to try unless I let another care for me as I truly am."

"And what is that?" He's taken Loki's hands in his and can feel a thin layer of powdery ice forming across them.

"Weak, twisted and afraid. Trusting you is scary, Tony, but I think you might understand the feeling. And though everything about it terrifies me, I also think I might be willing to give it a shot."

It shouldn't be happening, he knows the illusion must be inches from shattering, but Tony seizes it with all he has. In a moment of pure indulgence and elation, his hands run up his lover's back and press them both against each other, trying to eliminate even the slightest space between them. As he holds on tight to his anchor, he lets the universe fade from sight behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any fic recs? I feel like I'm constantly running out, so drop any of your favourites, can be a WIP or completed, I really don't mind!


	11. Dog Days Are Over

It had been two days since Tony had slept, forty-eight hours spent restlessly pacing up and down the ship, obsessively checking the maps they had received during their stop-over. Watching that pale dot blink closer and closer to the blue-green orb labelled Terra. Initially, it had been anticipation, uncontrollable excitement and joy at the prospect of achieving the impossible, returning safe and sound against all odds. But slowly, hour by hour, the anxieties had crept through, taunting him incessantly. 

He was returning, but at what cost? 

He'd failed, Thanos had won. 

The kid had turned to dust before his eyes. Half the fucking universe had turned to dust. 

And now he had to go home and explain himself. 

Prostrate himself and beg for forgiveness her certainly didn't deserve. 

"Tony?"

"Jesus fucking Christ!" His head slammed into the lowered ceiling of the dash. "Shit, Loki, you scared the crap out of me."

Tony didn't miss the flinch his yells wrought from the Jotun before him. Contritely, he squeezed his lover in a tight embrace, threatening to never let go. Cool lips placed themselves over his ear, and before he could get excited, they began to reprimand him softly.

"You need to come to bed, Tony. The Midgardian expression, I believe it is- the watched pot never boils. Surely, the time will pass faster if you rest." Even though Tony had initiated the embrace, he began to fidget within it, dreading the conversation that was developing. Though, if he was brutally honest with himself, it was much more than a conversation preventing him having even a moment's respite. 

"I can't let this fail, Loki, I have to get back, I don't care what it costs of me." He had to try and fix everything. Pepper, the Avengers, the disintegrated universe. "I can't sleep this close to the finish line."

A cobalt hand snaked itself around his wrist, tugging gently in the direction of the control room's exit. "Please, Tony, just a few hours. I can remain watch, I am sufficiently familiar with the ship's workings. I promise, you will do all the better for it."

Loki's word were convincing, tempting, alluring. It was true, rest would rejuvenate him, but it carried too many unknowns. What if they landed whilst he was asleep? What if there was an emergency, and Loki couldn't wake him up in time?

Wearily, Tony shook his head into his lover's chest. "You know I'd trust you with my life Loki. But, I just need to do this, I need to be in control."

"Can't you see that you're not? Tony, your fears are controlling you, they're driving you into paranoia and anxiety. Please, please come to bed. I'll make it worth your while."

Before him, Loki sunk to the ground on his knees, hands reaching forward almost unconsciously, muscle-memory driving their approach. In that moment, Tony felt himself break, slipping from his pedestal of determination and worry and fixation. Would there ever be a circumstance in which he spared any thought for his impact on those around him? He'd pushed away Pepper, now all he was doing was repeating the cycle. 

Except Pepper hadn't held severe psychological trauma and PTSD to rival Tony's own. 

Before Loki could go any further, Tony sunk down to join him on the floor, clasping their hands together. "You don't have to... I'll come to bed, I'm sorry. Will you come with me?"

The corner of Loki's eye sparkled, delicate ice crushed by blinking lids. A shaky nod. "May I kiss you? Before we get to Midgard, I just... just in case."

Not bothering with a reply, Tony eagerly complied, attempting to convey the tangled web of love and trust and gratitude lurking inside him with his lips alone. 

"You can kiss me anytime, you know that, right?" God, Tony wished he would, needed it.

Loki's head turned downwards, eyes aimed at Tony's knees. "I would never want to presume your boundaries."

"For you? None. You already thoroughly own every fibre of my being, Loki, I don't ever want you to doubt that." Tan fingers wrapped tightly around cobalt, a gentle reassurance of the inexplicable bond they shared. "Let's just go to bed, together, okay? Forget about Earth and forget about... other places. Only you and me, Loki. I'm sorry I've pushed you away."

Though there was some part of both of them reluctant to adjourn to their bedroom, they departed hand in hand. 

* * *

Despite Tony's earlier assurances that he held sufficient reserves of energy to complete their journey to Midgard, the human collapsed almost at the threshold of their shared suite. And despite his own anxiety at the prospect of returning to Midgard, only to be cruelly torn from Tony, Loki found it within himself to smile. Face attempting to merge itself with the pillow, Tony looked incredibly graceless, instead emulating a sereneness Loki had thought left behind in his youth. He actually found himself eager to join his lover in their bed, to curl up beside him and bask in the peaceful glow.

Pressed alongside the curve of Tony's body, Loki's own body became limp at last, every tension bleeding into the stiff and unyielding mattress. He worked his fingers through the filthy brown hair on the pillow beside, fruitlessly trying to smooth it. Though they may have had sufficient drinking water and food supplies now, Loki did not have the strength to produce any excess for luxuries such as bathing. His own hair had become a singular, inelegant knot. A dead weight hanging from his head, an unfixable mess. He could at least make Tony presentable, after all, he was the one with a future on Midgard, he was the one who needed to make reparations. Loki had already fallen much too far to stand up once more. 

A gentle knock sounded at the door, followed by a subtle stream of light seeping into the darkness of the bedroom. Reluctantly, Loki raised himself onto his elbows, looking up to greet his visitor.

"He's still asleep?"

Loki nodded in Nebula's direction, before realising it was still much dark for her to discern such a small movement.

"Yes, I believe it is doing him good, however. I do not wish to wake him." He had no clue how long it would be before Tony slept again, the best course of action was to make the most use of his current state of unconsciousness while it lasted.

"You're going to have to, he's going to be pissed if he misses this."

Loki decided to feign ignorance, as though it would stave off a time he had known was inevitable for many nights. "Misses what?"

In spite of his inability to make out the expressions of her face, Loki knew the exact withering glare Nebula's face employed at his ridiculousness.

"You might as well comes to terms with it now, Loki. We're five minutes out from a landing on Terra."

* * *

Tony's rest must have been extremely high quality, given the seemingly infinite levels of energy he now possessed, pacing incessantly up and down the congested control room. As per the mortal's directions, Nebula had piloted them to New York and the roof of Stark's tower. The very same one Loki had been defeated in all those years ago. His spine twinged in remembrance, the snapping of his bones on the tile, the wet thud of his brutalised body on the ground. But he pushed those memories down, this time was not his. Here, he did not matter. Tony was here to reorder his personal life, and Loki was here to support him in that, nothing more. Still, as they descended the tower in the metal contraption introduced to him as an elevator, he could not escape the numerous reminders of all that had transpired within the walls he stood inside. 

Disembarking the elevator, Tony called out tentatively, "FRIDAY?"

To Loki's shock, a voice from above responded in turn. "Is that really you Boss?"

"In the flesh, Fri."

"My scans fail to recognise your companions. How shall I classify them?"

Awaiting Tony's response, Loki's heart thundered loudly from within his chest, determined to amplify every one of his insecurities as loud as possible. Somehow, Tony seemed to sense this, wrapping his arm around the anxious trickster.

"Fri, I'd like you to meet my new friends, Nebula and Loki."

Alarms began blaring, lights flashing red. Instantly, Nebula had her gun drawn and aimed towards the ceiling. 

"Tony! What the hell is going on here?"

But Tony looked just as perplexed.

"I wish I could tell you, I don't know why the alarms have activated, you should both be classified as..." Carob eyes fell to scarlet. "...friendly. FRIDAY, override hostile status for one Loki Odinson, cut the sirens, we're fine."

Ah. Although Tony had forgiven his prior transgressions, it seemed his home had not. The alarms died down, lights returning to normal, leaving a hollow silence in its wake. Tony, as was typical of him, seemed to be about to attempt to fill it, when the metal doors opened again and revealed a group of burly men in black suits aiming their primitive, Midgardian guns directly at Nebula and Loki. It was not this sight, however, which distressed Loki particularly. Rather, it was the smartly dressed woman, strawberry blonde hair pinned neatly behind her, who set his heart racing once more. 

* * *

It hadn't dawned upon Tony that he'd made it home until he caught sight of Pepper standing in the elevator. Sure, FRIDAY had brought him close to the realisation, but Pepper had been his fixation all those weeks alone- almost alone- aboard the Benatar. He had rehearsed his apology over and over and over, each time adjusting it for yet another mistake he'd forgotten- as if he'd never actually remember them all. And now the moment had come.

"Anthony Edward Stark! You have sixty seconds to explain yourself, before I order security to start firing at... your associates."

Shit. In a way, it was reassuring to know Pepper hadn't changed, all business as usual. However, the guns did pose a significant risk. Hurriedly, he raised his arms in surrender, silently urging Loki and Nebula to do the same. 

"Hey, Pep. Good to see you too, missed you heaps." The room remained ominously quiet. "So, yeah, the aliens. Yeah. Well, as you might have guessed, I just got back from space- fighting alien overlords, the usual- and I happened to make a few friends along the way. And since we didn't actually defeat said alien overlord, I though we could use some back-up?"

Pepper's face remained stiff and unchanged, clearly unconvinced. "FRIDAY said Loki was in the tower."

"Oh, yeah. Um... Pepper, meet Loki, Loki, Pepper." Fucking hell, this was awkward. Or perhaps just tense. Either way, significantly less than ideal. "If you could not shoot Loki, that'd be great, he was pretty essential in getting me back here alive."

Thankfully, centuries of princely diplomacy must have been thoroughly ingrained in Loki's mind, as he stepped forward almost instantly following his introduction, hand extended politely. 

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms Potts. I would like to offer my sincerest apologies regarding my last visit to your planet and assure you I no longer bear any ill intentions towards it." The offered hand was shaken cautiously.

"You better know what you're doing."

Once again, Pepper was slipping from his reach, walking out the door. Refusing to make the same mistakes a second time, he stepped forward to follow her, unwilling to let the clicking of heels fade away.

But as he moved, his arm stayed wrapped around an icy waist, bringing him to a stop.

If he went after her now, he'd lose everything he'd found, sucked back into the tempest that had been their love. 

Tony stepped backwards, aligned with the present once more. As the heels began to fade out, he made his decision.

"Pepper?" The clicking stopped. "I'm sorry about what happened. But I'm in control now, I know exactly what I'm doing."

Next to him, Loki's armed wormed its way around his shoulders. Without another word, the heels resumed, progressively getting softer and softer. Once they'd disappeared, the security guards felt it safe to lower their guns, treating back into the elevator. 

"Tony?" Loki sounded anxious, uncertain, and for a moment, Tony couldn't think why. 

"What's up?" Black hair covered eyes turned downwards. Blue hands tapped rapidly against filthy leathers. Oh. "You want to leave."

"Only if you want me to. She still might forgive you, if you went to her now. I won't stand in the way."

Taking his free arm, he cupped Loki's face, thumbing over his gaunt cheek. "You're not in the way. You're exactly where I want you."

And when their lips came together, it didn't matter that half the world was nothing but scattered dust.

Together, they would work it out.

Together, they would be okay.


End file.
